


I Can't Make You Say You Love Me

by intolauren



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, NaNoWriMo, NaNoWriMo 2016, Possible triggering scenes/content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intolauren/pseuds/intolauren
Summary: Felicity Smoak is a woman in her twenties who has never really been kissed, never been in an actual relationship. She doesn't know what it means to be intimate, to be loved, to be needed. She's plagued with a crippling anxiety that gets in the way of every single relationship she's ever tried to have. Her friends can't understand why she's so terrified to let someone in, why she's so terrified of life in general, and sometimes, neither can she. She's told herself a million times that she's okay with being alone; solitude is her favourite thing in the world, it's safe there, she can't hurt anyone there. But what if it's not? What if there's something, or someone, better out there, just outside her apartment building, that she just won't let herself have?What if one day, someone scares her so badly in the best possible way, someone who has been there all along, and she starts to question everything she's ever believed about herself?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Long(ish) author's note ahead... skip if you hate ramblings and the like but please check the end of this note for the thank-you's and additional trigger warnings!!
> 
> I can't actually believe I'm writing this but... I ACTUALLY WROTE AND FINISHED A FIC FOR NANOWRIMO!  
> Yes, me, the intermittent writer who can never stick to any sort of schedule and often goes months without writing a thing actually committed to 50,000+ words in November and stuck to it! (I even finished early, on the 21st of November!)  
> I won't even go into the process, I'll just say that it was fucking hard. Like, really fucking hard. But I'm so proud of myself for finishing because I never thought I was good enough to ever achieve something like this. 
> 
> That being said... as much as I wanted to write a fluffy, little neighbours AU for this, I knew it wouldn't challenge me. So all of a sudden I found myself writing my least favourite trope full of angst galore. (Don't ask why. I'm insane or something.) So as you can see from the tags, this story isn't a light read. It has a happy ending, my fics always do, but it isn't at all a happy fic. There are moments of fluff and happy scenes thrown in but its underlying theme is angst, and it's pretty heavy on it. 
> 
> **Some trigger warnings** : this fic deals with the reality of living with **severe anxiety** and **emetophobia** (fear of vomiting/nausea) and there are some frank and honest descriptions of what that can be like, including references to **self harm and suicide**. These are light and infrequent but they're there so I had to mention them. If that kind of thing triggers you, perhaps skip this one. Although, if you're looking to gain knowledge or even some comfort that you're not alone in those struggles, this fic might be able to help you. 
> 
> Lastly, some thank you's before I begin!! 
> 
> @phangirlingforphan (on Tumblr and A03) for being my proofreader/beta/life saviour basically. I haaaaate editing with a passion and having a helping hand with it for the first time has made things so much easier. Lily is literally the best. I’m so lucky to know her.
> 
> @bokayjunkie (on Tumblr and A03) for helping me get through the trickiest part of this story just by venting via DM about how stressed I was that stuff just WAS NOT COMING OUT OF MY BRAIN. I definitely needed someone to just babble to, and I’m so grateful she let me.
> 
> @readyfortheworldtosee (on Tumblr) for always answering my little random Arrow trivia questions like how much age difference there is between Oliver and Thea, stuff I should definitely already know before I start writing anything, but that she never judges me for anyway. And for being my little cheerleader every time I hit a word count milestone.
> 
> @yellowflicker09011996 (on Tumblr) for providing the best inspiration in the form of reblogged quotes! I honestly can’t tell you how many times I went to her tumblr when I was stuck on something and just reading a fresh perspective from the words of other writers really saved so many paragraphs.
> 
> @candykizzes24 (on Tumblr and Twitter) for the amazing cover artwork!! I’ve never had a cover for any of my fics before and having one for this just makes everything seem more real, and by everything I mean the fact that I’ve actually finished something for once. We only exchanged a few messages but somehow she managed to capture exactly what I wanted my cover to show and the final product is just perfect.
> 
> And then basically just every single person who kept me motivated, who told me to keep going and reminded me why I shouldn’t quit even though I wanted to a million times. These people are 99% from Twitter, sometimes people I’d never even spoken to before, but mostly people in the fandom who were also losing their minds over NaNoWriMo too. Without those people I probably never would have finished this. Finished anything I’ve ever written. I cried several times because of a 6 word tweet telling me to keep going, believe me.
> 
> I'll be posting two chapters a week, on Thursdays and Mondays and then an extra final chapter/epilogue on Christmas Eve.
> 
> Phew, finally, I'm done rambling I think. Expect more ramblings in future author's notes. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story!! Please leave me a comment once you're done!!

 

She had almost said yes to tonight. She had almost gone with her heart instead of her head. 

 

But, like always, she had changed her mind at the last minute and faked food poisoning, or a cold, or was it a migraine? Which excuse had she actually used this time? She couldn’t remember. Her list of excuses was vast and each individual excuse had a tendency to blur into one huge lie these days. She was pretty sure her friends didn’t believe anything that came out of her mouth anymore, but if that was the case, they hadn’t said anything or confronted her about it. Not yet, anyway. 

 

Felicity nibbled on her lip nervously at the thought of the possibility of one of her friends confronting her, because she knew she wouldn’t have anything to say in her defence that wasn’t another lie or excuse. She sipped her coffee and tried to just focus on the warmth of the steam on her face, ignoring when it fogged her glasses. It was late and she shouldn’t be drinking it, caffeine only made things worse, but she always figured it was better than the alcohol she used to drink almost every evening but didn’t drink anymore, and shaking hands and a racing heart were a small price to pay for the 10 minutes of comfort that came from wrapping her hands around a warm mug. She’d stop drinking coffee eventually, she promised herself, one day she would, but not today, not yet. Drinking a mug of coffee on a cold, winter night reminded her of days not too long ago when things were calmer, more normal and shaking hands and a racing heart were part of her personality at this point anyway, caffeine or no caffeine. And besides, comforted wasn’t something she felt very often so she’d take it whenever she could get it, even if it just so happened to come with side effects. 

 

Glancing at the clock, Felicity thought about what her friends would be up to now. It was 11:30pm, so they’d probably only be at the first bar still. Pre-drinking, they called it. Or, finding the cheapest place and drinking sickly sweet cocktails and beers with names they’d never heard of before moving onto the more expensive places where they’d buy just one drink and then dance all night. Pre-drinks used to be Felicity’s favourite part of the night, back when she used to be fun and joined everyone for a night out every Friday without fail. But not anymore. She hadn’t touched alcohol in over two years except for a glass of wine at a family event a few months ago that she’d immediately regretted when her stomach started to turn and her head started to spin not long after draining the glass. She’d wanted to have fun, to loosen up a little since all she’d done all day since the ceremony ended was sit rigidly behind the table surrounded by empty seats that her family and friends had long since vacated to go and dance or socialise, worrying if the three course meal had been cooked properly or checking over and over where the nearest exits were, the nearest bathroom, the nearest trash can just in case she needed to puke even though she knew she wouldn't, everything was always just in case, and she’d thought the wine would help her relax. But it hadn’t helped, it really hadn’t and she’d spent the rest of her own mother’s wedding in the bathroom after that, trying not to have a full blown panic attack that she wouldn't be able to hide or run from. Her mom had been too wrapped up in her happiness with Quentin Lance to notice her daughter’s disappearance, and Felicity had never been more grateful for that. Besides, even if her mother _had_ noticed Felicity wasn’t sat at the table she’d occupied for most of the night, she would probably have assumed she’d just found a long lost relative to catch up with or some cute friend of the family to make out with somewhere quieter and less crowded. 

 

Felicity’s eyes rolled at the thought. She loved her mom, but she was so utterly clueless when it came to her daughter’s endeavors sometimes. She didn’t doubt that her mom had probably noticed a change in her behaviour over the last two years, she knew she had, but she also knew for a fact that she had no idea what Felicity was actually doing whilst MIA that night. She would have preferred her mother’s version of events too. The reality was a lot less glamorous. 

 

The truth was that Felicity hadn’t been able to enjoy any sort of social event in a really long time, but the last two years had been the worst of all. She couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed something, period. On the few occasions where Felicity actually made it out of her apartment, her time was occupied by intrusive thoughts and anxiety attacks and a nausea that never truly went away, not even once she was home safe again, usually only an hour or two after she’d left. So she was home a lot. Like, _a lot_. She left home only to see her therapist downtown once a month, or whenever she could afford to go once a month, she went to her doctor a few blocks away to pick up her medication, again, only as and when she could afford it, and sometimes she’d go for a walk around her block a couple of times, usually only when she’d convinced herself she was feeling so sick due to lack of Vitamin D. Of course, that was never the reason she felt so sick all the time, she knew that, her apartment had plenty of natural light and she wasn’t the type to brood with the curtains closed all day, but it was easier to pretend her nausea had a physical cause, rather than it being all in her head and directly linked to the crippling anxiety that had plagued her life since she was young. The crippling anxiety that had gotten worse as she’d grown rather than better like her childhood doctors had promised her it would. But even knowing that almost all of of her health related worries were due to her anxiety didn’t stop Felicity having daily panic attacks because she thought something was seriously wrong with her. Her therapist called it “health anxiety” but Felicity preferred to use the term “self proclaimed hypochondriac” whenever she was feeling particularly light-hearted about her struggles, which really wasn’t all that often. 

 

She’d quit her normal job six months ago, and now worked from home at her own freelance tech support business - if she could even call it a business at this point. It was barely enough to get her bills paid and her weekly online food shop done. But that’s just what happens when you’re too anxious to get out of bed on regular occasions, let alone answer phone and Skype calls from customers who need help fixing laptops or cellphones or games consoles. When she could actually function, she was excellent at her job; it was pretty much the only good thing she had going for her in her life, the only thing she had that made her feel like she had value as a person and was still needed on the planet. She’d had bigger dreams for herself once upon a time, of course, but she had just been doing the bare minimum, whatever she could to get by, for the last 5 years now, and she’d long since stopped aiming for anything more. 

 

She’d worked for the IT department at Palmer Tech for 4 years to begin with, then for a year at the local tech store downtown when office hours became too much work, and now, for herself from her living room, and only on the days where she could even manage that. 

 

Working at PT had been nice for the most part, and it was how she’d met most of her old friends. She hadn’t really stayed in touch with anyone from college and had been a bit of a loner until she started working there. Not that she made an abundance of friends at PT, she wasn’t exactly the easiest person to be around given her tendency to flake on most social gatherings even then, but she met enough people who seemed to like her enough that she could have called maybe two of them close friends, and a few more just friends at the least. 

 

There were only two friends she still had in her life that she’d known since she was a child: Sara Lance and Oliver Queen. And they just happened to be the two friends that were out without her, _again_ , probably discussing how weird she’d gotten lately, how much she’d changed or how they didn’t really know what to do with her anymore.

 

Well, they probably weren’t discussing her, they were almost definitely drinking too much and having too much of a great time to be even thinking about someone as insignificant as her, let alone actually be having a conversation about her. Besides, her friends loved her, they wouldn’t say a bad word about her… would they? 

 

“I would if I were them.” Felicity muttered aloud to herself. _But you aren’t them_ , her heart tried to remind her, faintly. 

 

She wasn’t listening. She never listened. She preferred the route of self-deprecation over actually listening to what her heart was saying deep down because it was much easier to accept her life as it was if she believed she had nothing really to fight for. Fight was something Felicity didn’t have a lot of inside her these days. 

 

So, once again, it was a Friday and Felicity was curled up on the couch in a blanket she’d washed and disinfected several times that afternoon, watching an episode of Family Guy she’d probably seen a thousand times, because it was the only thing that made her feel okay, instead of being out with her friends having fun and making memories, because being home was safe and she couldn’t catch any sort of sickness from other people and there weren't germs everywhere and if she had to puke, she could do it in her own bathroom where no one would see how terrified it made her or how much she cried when it happened, trying not to think about how her life had come to be this way. She was putting off going to bed because she really wasn’t in the mood tonight for tossing and turning until the early hours obsessing over everything she’d eaten that day in case it hadn't been cooked properly or had been out of date and was about to give her food poisoning, or thinking about the bacteria that was probably growing in her bed sheets just waiting to make her sick, even though she always changed them twice a week, sometimes more, and showered vigorously several times a day. 

 

Her day had been slow, her days were always slow, and as she stretched her legs out under the blanket, her muscles ached from lack of use. They ached a lot lately, and the sensation always made her reminisce on the days not too many years ago when she could definitely have called herself an athlete. Back then, she’d be up at 5am everyday and would have run 6 miles by 7. At least 3 days out of the week, she’d go to the gym straight from work and lift weights for an hour, sometimes jogging home after that with her work clothes in a backpack. Her muscles would ache then too, but from the burn of lactic acid, not because they barely ever got exerted like the way they ached now. Sometimes, if she thought really hard, she could almost feel that burn again, feel it everywhere, in her chest as she gulped down mouthfuls of cold, morning air during a run, in her thighs as they trembled but stayed firm and strong, taking the full weight of the barbell during a late night weights session. She missed it, she missed the way it made her feel something, the way it made her feel alive. 

 

She’d looked so different back then; her skin always glowed and she never got breakouts, her hair was long, perfectly blonde and shiny, her body was lean and toned all the time, the muscles in her legs clearly visible even without flexing, her midsection framed by the hard lines of her abs. That was back during the days when her anxiety was mostly just about crowded places or rooms without windows or being trapped with no way of escaping; those anxieties were anxieties she could function around. Those anxieties didn’t occupy her every waking thought and most of her dreams too. Those anxieties were easy, situational, and as long as she avoided those few situations, she was mostly okay. 

 

She couldn’t even imagine herself working out now, the thought was laughable. Even if she somehow managed to find the energy after weeks of sleepless nights and not enough food, there’s no way she could actually make it to the gym or out onto the street for a run. The gym was basically a breeding ground for germs and bacteria with hundreds of people touching everything and sweating all over everything everyday, and if she went for a run, what would happen if she got sick and wasn’t anywhere near a bathroom, or what if she collapsed from exhaustion and no one found her for days? 

 

Nowadays her skin was pale, almost gaunt on particularly bad weeks where she couldn’t make herself eat enough and she never slept, her hair was thin and lifeless from over-washing and she hadn't been able to afford dye in over a month so her chestnut brown roots were showing, always scraped back in a ponytail because she didn’t have the energy to do anything with it, her muscle definition was gone, replaced by a slim frame she didn’t even recognise and tried not to look at whenever she could help it, and her smile, when she rarely did smile, never quite reached her eyes. She was a shell of the person she’d once been, in almost every way. 

 

Felicity turned up the volume on the TV and tried not to think anymore. But not thinking wasn’t something she was ever very good at. The louder she turned up the TV, the louder her thoughts became. Her thoughts were always loud, always the loudest. Louder than the voices of her friends telling her that they loved her, louder than the voice of her therapist reminding her of the things she was good at, louder than the world right outside her window that she ignored everyday, louder than the sound of her phone ringing, then a new voicemail that she would never play, a new text that she never replied to. 

 

She couldn’t remember when she’d intentionally started ignoring her phone whenever someone tried to contact her. She couldn’t remember whether it had actually ever been a conscious decision. But the longer she avoided contact with other people, the less likely she was to hurt someone, the less likely she was to drag someone into the mess that was her life. Most people had stopped trying to contact her months ago; she hadn’t really spoken to any of her friends from Palmer Tech since she left and she hadn’t known them long enough in the first place for them to feel obliged to keep trying to get in touch with her. She’d been waiting for the day when Sara and Oliver stopped trying for a long time now, and she didn’t know if she should be happy or frustrated that that day didn’t seem to even be on the horizon. 

 

She’d known Sara since she was four years old; Sara was younger by just two months. They’d met in preschool after a boy had pushed Felicity down in the sandbox and Sara had hit him over the head with a plastic spade when he wouldn’t apologise. She’d got into trouble with the teacher for that, and the school had called her parents, but Sara hadn’t cared. She’d just smiled at Felicity from the corner where she’d been sent to “think about her behaviour” whenever Felicity had looked over and they’d been best friends ever since. Sara was different to Felicity in almost every way, and she always had been, but their friendship had thrived even so. Sara was headstrong and loud, completely confident in who she was, and Felicity was sure she’d intimidated every boy and girl in every school she’d ever attended. She was petite and slender, had long auburn hair and freckled skin and she was one of the most beautiful people Felicity had ever known. Sara knew it too, she knew she was beautiful, you could tell that just from the way in which she held herself, the way she talked about herself, the way she talked in general, clearly and with confidence and certainty, never once stuttering or hiding behind her hair as though she was afraid people would laugh at her, as though she worried people would find her dull and uninteresting. She had an abundance of energy and a warm smile almost permanently on her face now and Felicity couldn’t remember a day, even as a child, where she hadn’t wished she could be more like her friend. They’d lived close to each other for most of their childhoods and so had gone to all the same schools and even when Felicity’s parents divorced and she moved out of town with her mom, they still found ways to see each other as often as possible. By the time they both graduated high school, they knew absolutely everything about each other and didn’t go a day without texting or talking for hours on the phone late into the night. Sara hadn’t gone to college, it had never been a goal of hers and she hated school, but Felicity had, and Sara’s significantly less busy schedule had meant she’d spent endless weekends over at Felicity’s dorm, distracting her from studying with chatter about her latest date, persuading her to leave her books and go out drinking and dancing with her instead. 

 

Their friendship had always been easy, and Sara was the one who had been there when Felicity had her first panic attack when she was 11 years old. They’d had a bond ever since then that Felicity didn’t really have words for, less so this last year as she’d tried to distance herself from everyone, but still stronger than any bond Felicity had ever had with either of her parents or anyone else in her life up to this point. 

 

It was through Sara that Felicity had met Oliver. Oliver’s family had been a friend of Sara’s family for years, even before both Sara and Oliver were born, and the two of them had been having playdates since they were toddlers. Felicity had been introduced to Oliver at Sara’s 5th birthday party where the two of them had spent the majority of the time sitting behind the bouncy castle, sharing a bowl of chips Oliver had managed to sneak from the food table, chattering animatedly about cartoons and dinosaurs and time travel. Oliver was just a year older than Felicity and Sara and he too, lived closeby and whenever Sara was busy, which happened to be quite a lot growing up considering she took dance classes, martial arts classes and then later joined the track and field team which had grueling practices almost every night after school, Felicity and Oliver would hang out together, either down at the local park during the summer, or at each other’s houses when it got colder and darker at night. As children, they’d play pretend games together until the sun went down, always set in the jungle or outer space, massive worlds and universes their shared imagination had created occupied them for hours and always gave them something to talk about. As they’d grown older they’d taken to playing board games together, or video games once Oliver got a brand new console for his birthday, their friendship never awkward, conversation never forced. They witnessed each other’s gangly teenage years, the growth spurts and mood swings that came with puberty, and Oliver was the only person besides Sara who had any idea how much Felicity struggled with her anxiety on a daily basis. Felicity didn’t open up much about how she felt, but Oliver had always seemed to just know how she was feeling without her having to say anything, and he’d always known what to say in response to her silence. Where Sara preferred to distract her, to try and make her forget about how she was feeling, always buying her gifts and coming up with practical and temporary solutions, Oliver had always been the one who sat with her as she tried not to cry and nearly always failed, holding her hand and reminding her that it would pass, and that she would be okay. 

 

Felicity’s friendship with the two of them just _worked_ , it always had, even now when she pushed them away all the time and they couldn’t hang out like they used to. The two of them also had a great friendship with each other, so even when Felicity was hiding away from them, they could spend time together, and she was grateful for that. She had always put her friend’s happiness above her own, and knowing that even if she wasn’t there, they could be there for each other, made Felicity so thankful. They’d never leave each other, even if she left them, she knew that, and it was all she needed to remind herself whenever it had been weeks since she’d seen or spoken properly to either of them. 

 

Felicity knew they didn’t understand her, they couldn’t possibly understand her or why she was the way she was, but they always tried to, they never stopped trying to understand and they always tried to make things easier for her. 

 

They would always call before they came over, something they’d never had to do in the past, and they never complained or got angry when Felicity made them wash their hands twice before they could sit down or wouldn’t let them order takeout in her apartment or wouldn’t ever let them stay long or hug her before they left. They were the most patient people she’d ever met, both of them, and even though she knew she made their lives so difficult sometimes and she knew they were better off without her, still they stayed. 

 

They’d put up with far more over the last couple of years than most friends would have been willing to put up with. Her constant cancelling of plans and changing her mind last minute was only the beginning of it. She’d asked them for advice when she was thinking of quitting her job, both times, and both times they’d told her not to, had spent hours on the phone with her reminding her of all the reasons why she shouldn’t quit, and then she’d quit anyway. Twice. 

 

She’d screamed and yelled at them more times than she could count, for various reasons, usually for something so small, so insignificant, like when Sara had been over and made a casual comment about how she’d been feeling a little sick that day. Felicity hadn’t been able to control her anger at the time, she’d felt like her friend had come over especially to infect her with something; she’d started yelling almost immediately after Sara had spoken, calling her selfish and stupid, accusing her of trying to make her sick on purpose. She’d barely let her pick up her shoes and purse before Felicity had kicked her out of the apartment, and Sara was barely out of the door before Felicity was pouring an entire bottle of disinfectant over the couch and swallowing two of her probiotic pills, even though she was only supposed to take one a day. Once she’d calmed down and had cleaned her entire apartment, Felicity had cried for hours, hating herself and wishing she could turn back time and just not have reacted that way. She’d called Sara and apologised a thousand times and Sara had forgiven her, she always forgave her, but the day still left a sour taste in Felicity’s mouth whenever she thought about it; the couch still smelled like the expensive disinfectant she’d poured over the fabric, even though it was now months later. And that was only one of the times one of her best friends had been on the receiving end of Felicity’s anger, for something no normal person would ever be angry for. 

 

She knew her friends couldn’t relax around her because they were always waiting for the moment when they’d say or do something wrong, something that would trigger a panic attack, almost everything triggered a panic attack nowadays, always waiting for the moment when Felicity would lie and say she was tired or had a headache or had work to do and they’d have to leave right then and there before she got angry. They weren’t allowed to touch her or give her hugs anymore because she would have to wash her hands three times or take a shower straight away afterwards. 

 

There used to be better days, at least once a week, where Felicity could have her friends over and still act relatively normal. They couldn't go out still, but they could sit together on those days, on the couch watching a movie, laughing and talking and sometimes even sharing the same box of popcorn and she wouldn’t worry instantly about catching something from them. They could hug goodbye and she wasn’t abruptly trying to run to the shower to scrub herself raw. Those days weren’t even that long ago really, maybe only a couple of months ago. But Felicity hadn’t had a better day for weeks now. She was starting to forget what better days even felt like. It had been almost two months since she saw her therapist, not just because she felt too anxious to leave her apartment lately, but because she’d been spending almost all of her money on endless different cleaning products, always buying the most expensive brand because the expensive brands just had to work better than the cheap stuff. Every time she took her anti-anxieties and probiotics in the morning, her chest went tight because she was down to her last box, they would only last her another week or so on her normal dose, and she was taking two or three more than she was supposed to lately because she was feeling so bad all the time. It was on the better days where Felicity didn’t always even need to take her anxiety meds; they were never supposed to be a daily thing anyway because they were addictive and the withdrawal effects were miserable, but the little yellow Valium capsule was the only thing that helped anymore and she hadn’t been able to practice any of the meditations she used to rely on because the silence freaked her out too much and the only thing she could ever focus on when she tried to meditate was whether or not she felt sick or whether or not her heart was beating too slow or too fast. 

 

Suddenly, her phone vibrated in her lap, making her jump; she was always so on edge and the slightest noise or movement that she wasn’t expecting made her heart race for definitely longer than was normal or healthy. It was a text from Oliver. 

 

O: _Hey, how are you? Sara’s just gone home with some girl… no surprise there, right? :P I was wondering if I could come over for a bit, if you’re still awake and feel up to it? We were out your end of town anyway and I’m just a 15 minute walk away. If that’s too soon, I can hang around for awhile before coming over or we could just meet up tomorrow maybe? I just miss you and it feels like forever since I last saw you. It’s not the same going out without you there but don’t tell Sara I said that ;) xo_

 

Felicity smiled at the text, but was already typing a decline to his offer. She couldn’t have him here, not tonight anyway. He’d been drinking and had probably been in clubs packed full of people for hours and god knows what kind of germs he would have picked up from them. 

 

F: _Sorry, I was just about to go to bed so we can’t hang out tonight :( I’m not sure about tomorrow either, I don’t think I’ll feel up to it. I haven’t been feeling well today, that’s all, and I wouldn’t want you to catch anything from me. Sorry again, xo_

 

She wanted to tell him that she missed him too, she wanted to tell him to come over asap so they could catch up over a movie, she wanted to ask him about his night and ask him what the girl Sara had left with was like. She wanted to tell him the real reason he couldn’t come over, she always wanted to tell Oliver the truth. She never did, but she always wanted to. She wanted to tell him how bad things had gotten lately and how she was scared that she wouldn’t be able to cope much longer and how she’d been taking her pills too much and how she’d taken five showers today but still felt unclean. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t say those things. She just couldn’t. She couldn’t tell anyone those things. Not even her best friend. Not ever. 

 

O: _Felicity, please. Please let me come over tomorrow. I promise I’ll take a shower first and I’ll wear newly washed clothes and I’ll anti-bac my hands every 2 minutes if it makes you feel better. I’ll do whatever makes you feel better, you know I will. Just please don’t shut me out._

She knew Oliver would see straight through her excuses. Her could read her better than anyone and it terrified her. 

F: _Can I just get back to you in the morning? I’ll call you when I wake up or something. I promise I’ll try and be okay tomorrow._

The least she could do was try. 

O: _Okay. I miss you, xo_

She almost said it back. She almost said she missed him too. But she couldn’t. She never could. 

Instead she turned off the TV, the silence deafening her instantly, picked up the blanket and carried it over to the kitchen ready to wash first thing in the morning, loaded up the dishwasher to run overnight with plates and dishes and cutlery she'd already washed twice by hand, and went to bed, falling asleep hours later after she exhausted herself crying and washing her hands over and over. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the response on the first chapter! I know this fic wasn't for everyone but I'm so grateful and happy that so many of you are giving it a chance! If I'm slow replying to comments on the next couple of chapters it's because I'm in a pantomime for the next 7 days and it literally requires every single ounce of my energy :P But I'll be back to replying as soon as it's over! I really hope the rest of this story continues to be something you enjoy! 
> 
> Some specific **trigger warnings for this chapter** : a conversation about **self harm** , one **light reference to suicide** and slightly **graphic description of an injury**. 
> 
> Again, thank you to @candykizzes24 for the cover artwork and to @phangirlingforphan for being my amazing beta. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! Whilst it's darker than the first one, it really does pave the way for some fluffy moments in the next one, I promise. Please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts once you're done! :)

 

By the time morning arrived, Felicity had decided that she just couldn’t say no to Oliver this time.  
She was exhausted; she’d only fallen asleep two hours earlier, but she was always exhausted no matter how much or little she slept so the feeling was nothing new. She hadn’t had breakfast because she felt sick to her stomach with anxiety about the day ahead and there was just no way food was going to work with her this morning. 

 

She’d called Oliver as soon as she woke up, before she had time to change her mind. He’d answered on only the second ring. 

 

“Good morning, sunshine!” He answered, sounding cheerful. 

 

He’d called her Sunshine for years, even though her personality represented more of a rain storm these days. The irony was almost laughable. _Almost_. Felicity found herself smiling all the same. 

 

“I’m sorry about last night.” She started, skipping over the pleasantries and getting straight to apologising. 

 

“You already apologised, don’t worry about it. I know it was really last minute anyway. I actually ended up bumping into a friend when I was waiting for a cab home and we went for another drink together. Do you remember Jake, my roommate my first year in college?”

 

“Jake? I didn’t know you guys had been friends. I actually thought you hated him because he tried to make out with your sister once when she came to visit you and you all got too drunk. I think I actually recall you trying to hit him.” 

 

“You don’t forget anything, do you?” Oliver laughed. 

 

“Unfortunately not.” Felicity laughed too. 

 

“Yeah, well, alcohol makes _me_ forget who I hated in college, apparently. And I’m actually glad because he was a nice guy. But then again, maybe that was the alcohol in him too.”

 

“You can tell me about it all later if you like? When you come over? That’s if you still want to, of course. You don’t have to. I just thought-” 

 

“Of course I want to come over! I told you last night, I miss you, it’s been forever since we hung out.” Oliver interrupted her excitedly, and it made her smile again, despite herself. 

 

She still just couldn’t understand why anyone still wanted to spend time with her, but Oliver’s apparent excitement made her feel warm inside. Only for a few seconds, but it was there all the same. 

 

“Do you want to come over around 10, maybe? Or is that too early?” She asked, nibbling on her lip anxiously, already half wanting to change her mind. 

 

“10 is perfect. You know, I didn’t think you’d actually call.” 

 

Of course he didn’t. And neither did she, to be honest. She never called anyone. 

 

“Neither did I.” She admitted, not knowing what else to say. 

 

There was a silence, and then she heard Oliver sigh. 

 

“I wish I could understand what goes on inside that head of yours sometimes.” He said, quietly. 

 

 _Me too_ , she almost said. “You really wouldn’t want to know.” She joked, instead. 

 

She heard him smile at that, but she knew it wasn’t a real smile. 

 

“So, I’ll see you at 10 then, yeah? I’ll call you when I’m like, 5 minutes away, okay?” 

 

“That would be nice, thank you,” 

 

He was so thoughtful. Always so thoughtful. 

 

They exchanged goodbyes and hung up. Felicity glanced at the clock; it was 8:30am. She didn’t have as long as she’d like to get her morning routine completed. Her morning routine that included changing her bed sheets, taking her meds, two showers, an entire clean of her apartment and then another shower once she was finished cleaning, the same routine she went through everyday. Plus, if she had someone coming over, she should probably do her makeup or something. She briefly considered skipping one of her showers, but decided against it almost instantly. Something bad would happen if she didn’t do everything, she just knew it would, she’d get sick if she didn’t do it properly. 

 

It was during her third shower that Felicity really started to panic. 

 

She hadn’t been outside in over two weeks now, and she hadn’t had anyone inside her apartment in double that. This was the longest she’d ever gone without any contact with the world. She didn’t even know if she’d be able to open the door; her brain was insistent on picturing a wall of germs and bacteria waiting for her as soon as she did. She didn’t even realise she was crying until she almost choked on her own sobs. 

 

Sitting down on the floor of the shower, Felicity pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around herself and tried to remember how to breathe normally, tried to control her sobs enough so that she could actually think about anything else besides the choking sounds she was making. She could never understand why people always romanticised crying in the shower in movies and books. Crying in the shower was the most suffocating thing in the world. The steam and hot water making their way inside your body and trapping you slowly from the outside in. 

 

She couldn’t bear it anymore. She needed to get out so she could breathe. But she had to finish her shower. She’d only washed her hair once, she had another shampoo cycle to complete. She had to finish it. She had to. She was going to get sick if she didn’t. 

 

What time was it? How much longer did she have? 

 

She couldn’t breathe. 

 

She forced herself to stand her, her legs trembling. She almost slipped on the wet tile, but somehow managed to stay standing. She started to count, out loud. 

 

“One. Two. Three. Fo-” 

 

Another sob cut her off. 

 

She closed her eyes and tried to focus on something. Anything. 

 

The water hitting her back. She tried to focus on that. She always showered with scalding water and it still pierced her skin as it made contact, even after years of showering this way. If the water wasn’t hot enough, she wouldn’t be clean. Even if it hurt, she had to be clean. So she focused on that, the best she could. Focused on each spray of water hitting her shoulders and then running down her back. 

 

“Five. Six. Seven. Eight…” 

 

This time she made it to fifty. And when she opened her eyes she could almost breathe again. It was just enough to let her finish her shower. Just enough to rub the shampoo into her scalp for two minutes, and then into the ends of her hair for another two, and then all over for another two. Rinse it out. Repeat. 

 

She turned the water off. The cool air of the bathroom attacked her skin immediately, soothing where the hot water had burned. She shivered, but made no effort to get out. She just needed a few minutes to breathe. But her phone was ringing. She could hear it ringing in the living room. Which meant that Oliver would be there in five minutes and she wasn’t ready. She was never going to be ready. 

 

Stepping out of the shower on autopilot, Felicity wrapped her towel around her, all her towels were washed every single day whether they’d been used or not, and then went to answer her phone. Everything was blurry, from both the unshed tears still clouding her vision, and her lack of glasses. Where had she left them? She couldn’t remember. 

 

“Hey, I thought you weren’t going to answer!” Oliver sounded worried. She hated that he worried about her. She wouldn’t worry about her if she were him. 

 

“I was just taking a shower. It took… it took longer than usual.” She replied, trying to keep her voice from shaking. 

 

“Are you alright?” He was even more worried now. Felicity hated herself. 

 

“I don’t know. Um, I might not be ready in 5 minutes. I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked. She hated herself more. 

 

“Hey, it’s okay. I can wait. You just take your time, okay?” 

 

He was so nice. Why was he always so nice? She didn’t deserve him. 

 

“I don’t know if today is a good idea anymore.” 

 

“No. Don’t say that. It’s going to be okay, I promise. Okay?” 

 

“Oliver, I can’t.” 

 

“You can. I promise, you can,” 

 

“I can’t.” She whispered, only whispering so he wouldn’t be able to hear that she was crying again. 

 

“It’s going to be alright. I won’t stay long. We don’t have to talk about anything serious or even talk at all if you don’t want to. We can just watch TV, even if there’s nothing on. We’ll do whatever you want. Okay?” 

 

He wasn’t going to let this go, she could tell by his voice. And somehow, for some reason, she found herself agreeing. 

 

“Okay.” She said, not recognising the voice that spoke. 

 

“Okay?” 

 

“Yeah. Okay.” She said again. 

 

“Do you need more time?” He asked, concern thick in his tone. 

 

“No, I’ll be okay. I think. I’ll be 5 minutes. I don’t need more time.” 

 

Was she trying to convince him, or herself? 

 

“Okay, I’ll see you soon then?” 

 

“Yeah. 5 minutes. See you then.” 

 

She knew her last sentence had sounded like a question, repeating the same one he’d asked her, but she hung up anyway before he could answer, heading for her bedroom to get dressed. 

 

Usually during the day, Felicity wore gym leggings and a T-shirt and that was the extent of the effort she made with her wardrobe. But for the first time in awhile, she decided to actually get dressed. She knew there was nothing she could do about her face now, there wasn’t enough time, but she could at least try to dress better. She slipped on a pair of jeans that used to hug her body perfectly but were now loose in places they had never been before, and then put on one of the blouses she used to wear to work, back when she worked at Palmer Tech. Back then, her appearance had been so important to her and she had always looked immaculate. Not a single crease in her clothes, shoes that were alway shiny because she wanted them to look new, not cleaned to within an inch of their life in case they had germs on them, perfect makeup that lasted hours and hardly ever needed re-touching, her face always complete with a different colour of lipstick everyday, flawlessly drawn on without the slightest hint of a smudge. That was back when all her money wasn’t spent on cleaning products, and she actually had a steady income every month, and she could treat herself to gorgeous clothes and expensive makeup, with the odd pair of designer shoes thrown in whenever she had some extra cash. The Felicity back then would never have been seen dead in a t-shirt and leggings. Even when she was at the gym or out running, she wore coordinating colours and had a different pair of Nikes for each day of the week. 

 

She found her glasses on the floor by her bed, slipped them on and ran her fingers through her wet hair. She didn’t know where her hair brush was, she never needed to brush her hair when it was always just up in a ponytail everyday, so combing her fingers through it would have to do for now. She’d buy herself a new hairbrush next time she went out. She was going to start making an effort with herself again. Maybe. Probably not. What was the point anyway? It wasn’t like she had anyone to dress up for and she wasn’t the type to do anything nice just for herself. She liked being alone, out of necessity more than anything, but she certainly wasn’t the type of woman who thrived on solitude. Not like Sara. Sara more than thrived on being an independent woman and it was just another reason Felicity had always envied her. Sara chose her solitude. She chose to be on her own. She chose to just make out with strangers and then never call them again. It made her feel powerful. She absolutely _flourished_ living that way. 

 

Felicity’s solitude had never really been a choice. She kept herself alone because she had to. She told herself that she was happiest on her own, and she was, because people made her anxious, but none of it was a choice. And the older she got, the harder that was for her to ignore. 

 

She wasn’t naive enough to think she was the only twenty-five year old who had never been in a relationship, but she knew she was in the minority. She also knew that most women in that minority probably had _some_ experience with relationships and intimacy at least. Her experience began and ended with a tiny handful of almost kisses, usually whilst intoxicated at a club somewhere during her college years, never quite intoxicated enough to actually go through with the kiss, always making an excuse and getting the hell out of there before the other person had even been able to register what was happening. She had no experience in the field of being loved, of being wanted by someone, of being needed. No one looked twice at her, they never really had. Not like the way they looked at Sara, or Oliver even, no one had ever looked at her that way, like she was worth looking at. No one that wasn’t her family or friends anyway. And not even them more recently. She wasn’t worth looking at.

 

Intimacy terrified her, all of it. The touching and being in each other’s personal space, the opening up and trusting and sharing. It always had, ever since she’d been a child. 

 

From an extremely young age, Felicity had learned how to take care of herself. Her parents had always both worked long hours, but when her parents divorced when she was 7, Felicity’s mom had had to work twice as much. Felicity had always admired her mother’s work ethic, she still did, and the way she had always done everything she could just to make sure Felicity had a good life. But Felicity would definitely have given up a meal on the table every evening for just an hour or two of her mother’s undivided attention every once in awhile. She loved her mother, and she knew her mother loved her, but Felicity couldn't help but think that if she'd been there more when she was a child, she might not be so utterly clueless when it came to affection nowadays. Being a single parent who worked over 60 hours a week didn't leave much time for bonding. And as for Felicity's dad, she hadn't seen him since the day she and her mother left. 

She would always remember that day. The day her mother had come into her room on a Sunday afternoon and helped her pack a suitcase, telling her they were going on vacation. When Felicity had asked if her dad was coming too, Donna had told her to stop asking questions, that this was going to be fun just the two of them, and that she shouldn't tell her dad where they were if ever he called. It was going to be “girl time”, she'd reassured her. As a 7 year old, Felicity had been so excited to finally be spending time with her mom; she'd dreamed of the two of them going on vacation together ever since she was old enough to. She had no idea that this vacation was just to just outside of town, to stay with her grandparents for a month whilst her mom saved up to get them a studio apartment to live in, a tiny place, two minuscule bedrooms, one bathroom and one room for everything else in a building where the elevator never worked and the bars and clubs nearby played loud music until the early hours of the morning, 6 days a week. Felicity learned soon after that that this was no normal vacation, and she learned even quicker than that to stop asking about her father. Every time she asked for him and saw her mother's eyes cloud over with tears, her always poised and smiling face falling just an inch, she couldn't understand, but she quickly associated her mother's tears with her own guilt for making her cry, and stopped asking questions. 

By the time she was 8 years old, Felicity pretty much just saw her mother on Sunday's, her only day off from waitressing at the several bars she worked for, one during the day and one during the night, and then one more whenever she could, and by that point they didn't really know what to say to each other. Her mother worked the breakfast shifts, the lunch time shifts and every other shift in between. She was never home before 11pm, hours later than that during the weekend, and Felicity was always in bed by then. Felicity's grandparents had started coming over a few days a week to look after her, but Felicity had quickly reassured them that she didn't need looking after and had lied about just how much her mother wasn't home, telling them she was always home by 6pm anyway. 

 

Donna had become a stranger to Felicity, and she had no idea what to talk to her about anymore. They'd never really had anything in common, Felicity had always been more like her father, but she and her mother had always had just enough to talk about to get along. But now there was just the two of them around, their differences were impossible to ignore. So their one day a week together was usually just a lot of silence and small talk. Breakfasts were accompanied by the TV playing, when her mom was even out of bed in time for breakfast anyway, and comments about the weather or whatever was on the TV; they couldn't afford cable at the time, so it was usually the news or some cartoon that Felicity was fast becoming too old for. Sometimes during the day they'd go into town, wander around the stores or go to a cafe for cake, but Felicity hated shopping and would always much rather be at home reading, and as much as she tried to enjoy the time with her mom, she knew that Donna could always tell when Felicity was bored. 

Looking back, Felicity always wished she could have been more responsive with her mother, but she was always just so afraid of saying the wrong thing and making her cry. She didn't want to ask for anything because she knew money was tight and she never wanted her mom to feel guilty for anything. It was around then that Felicity became quiet and withdrawn, keeping everything to herself for fear of burdening anyone with her small and insignificant problems. She kept herself busy with schoolwork, always taking on extra assignments and doing twice as much as was necessary when it came to homework, just so she'd never run out of distractions for the endless hours she spent alone after school. The work was always easy, she could have breezed through a week’s worth of homework in a single afternoon, her teachers always said she was at least two grades ahead in terms of her academic ability, but she took her time with the work, making sure her penmanship was perfect and that there were never any scribblings or crossings out on the page; if she made a mistake, she ripped up the page and started again. She started saving her pocket money, the $5 a week she got from her grandparents, so she could buy herself books to read, and by the time she was 10, she'd saved enough to buy herself her first computer. Felicity had gone with Sara and her parents one Saturday to buy it, because she was too young to go out by herself, and she'd kept it a secret from her mom for weeks, worried that she'd be angry with her for spending so much money on something, or that seeing it would remind her of her father. Felicity and her dad had always shared such a love for technology and it was something Donna had never been able to understand and Felicity knew it had always made her feel left out whenever she and her dad had talked for hours about computers and she hadn't been able to join in. Luckily for Felicity, her mom never really came into her room then, and when she'd finally found out that Felicity had bought herself a computer, she hadn't really had much to say. She'd looked at it, and then looked at Felicity like she didn't recognise her at all, and then hurried out of the room to get ready for work. 

 

Felicity had heard her mother crying that night, and her mom never cried anymore. She wanted so badly to go into her room to comfort her, but she didn’t know how. So she kept quiet and pretended she hadn’t heard and by morning everything was back to normal. But she never forgot the way Donna had looked at her, not ever. And for most of Felicity’s life after that, she blamed herself for everything that had gone wrong in her mother’s life. She blamed herself for her parents’ failed marriage, for the distance between she and her mom, for every single time her mother had ever cried. It was around that time that her panic attacks had started. 

Felicity never stopped wondering what happened to her parent's marriage, but she still had never asked. The only thing she'd heard of her dad since that day they left was that he'd been arrested for some reason or another a few years back and that had been really all the explanation she needed as to why she and her mother had left. He’d never tried to get in touch with her either since that day as far as Felicity knew, and she’d long since stopped expecting him to call or write or email. 

 

She didn’t let herself think a lot about how that made her feel; she didn’t think he deserved that, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of making her feel anything anymore. But that didn’t stop her every now and again wondering what was so wrong with her that her own father had never fought for her, that her own father had just let her be taken from his life without so much as a phone call to ask if she was okay. 

 

As much as he’d been away working for most of her childhood, whenever they’d spent time together, they’d had so much in common and she’d thought that her dad was the coolest person she’d ever met. He’d taught her almost everything she knew at that age about computers and other kinds of tech, and he’d always told her how smart she was, and how much she was going to achieve one day. He’d been talking to her about college since she was old enough to understand that the world wasn’t always just pretend games and bedtime stories and he always used to promise her that no matter what, he’d make sure she went to the best college in the country. She _had_ ended up going to a great college in the end, but that was no thanks to him. She and her mom had paid for her college tuition with not even a single cheque in the mail from him. 

 

Not that she would ever have taken his money anyway, she felt bad enough asking her mom for money, but Donna was adamant that Felicity was going to college, and she was adamant that money was no object. Fortunately, Felicity had won two scholarships by the time college came around, thanks probably to all the time she’d always spent doing more than what was needed with her schoolwork, that was something she kept up all the way through her school career. But it was still bittersweet, moving away to college on her own, because whilst she was so happy to be moving away and getting a fresh start full of amazing opportunities, she couldn’t help but wish her dad could have been there to see it happen. He’d never once in his life told her that he was proud of her, she’d never heard that from either of her parents in fact, and it had really messed her up. It still did, not that she really had anything for them to be proud of now. 

 

She and her mother spoke even less nowadays. Her mother was in the same position as everyone else, not really knowing what to say or do with Felicity. She still called her once a week to make sure she was okay, and she visited sometimes when Felicity was feeling well enough, but Felicity was even less keen to talk to her mom as she was her two best friends.

 

She still held onto so much guilt and just couldn’t shake her belief that talking to anyone about anything that she was struggling with, was a waste of their time. If ever she did talk, she didn’t say much and the guilt and shame that came afterward was just too much to bear. Felicity would replay the conversation over and over in her head, cringing when she thought about anything she’d said, hating herself, and just wishing she could have kept her mouth shut. People didn’t need to worry about her, her life was the way it was because of no one but herself and no one should have to listen to her whine about things only she could change. It just wasn’t fair on them. 

 

So when her mom did call or visit, Felicity kept the conversation strictly on her mom, asking _her_ lots of questions, avoiding when the questions were reciprocated whenever she could and just lying whenever she couldn’t. As far as her mom knew, she was still working at the tech store; Felicity had never been able to find it in her to tell Donna that she’d quit that job too. She’d only worry then, probably ask her if she needed money and refuse to take no for an answer which would then be something else Felicity had to feel guilty about. She hadn’t seen her since her wedding, and on that day, her mom had been way too wrapped up being the centre of attention to spend much time with Felicity. Felicity was so grateful that her mom was so happy and had fallen in love again, and even though it was still slightly strange that she’d married her best friend’s father, it made her happy that her mom wasn’t on her own anymore. She’d been on her own for far too long. And as hard as the day had been for Felicity, she was glad she’d been able to make it out of the house to be there to see her mom so happy. She’d even managed to give her mom a quick hug and tell her that she loved her, something she hadn't done in a really long time. 

 

Felicity jumped when the door buzzed, even though she’d been expecting it. It amazed her how deeply she could get lost in her own head sometimes. 

 

The panic was already building inside her again as she went into the kitchen and pushed the button to open the main doors downstairs. She knew she had around 30 seconds before Oliver would reach her floor. She tried counting again, the way she’d done in the shower but she couldn’t, she couldn’t remember how to, the only thing she could remember was the wall of germs and the bacteria waiting on the other side of the door. She was vaguely aware of someone knocking on her door, but she couldn’t make herself move. She was frozen in the kitchen, gripping the counter just for something to hold onto, her fingertips white from the strength of which she was holding on. Her heart was racing, her stomach was churning, and she could feel her palms growing slick with sweat beneath the pins and needles feeling that was running up and down them. The door was right there, just three feet away, but she couldn’t make herself move. 

 

“Felicity?” She heard Oliver call from behind the door. 

 

She tried to respond but all that came out was a choking sound. Taking a deep breath, she tried again, forcing herself to try and breathe. 

 

“Oliver, I- I can’t open the door.” She managed to say, quietly, but loud enough for him to hear. 

 

“You can. It’s just me. It’s okay, I promise.” His voice was so reassuring, reassuring enough that she managed to take two steps towards the door so she was standing right in front of it. 

 

“I want to, but I can’t. I don’t think I can.” 

 

“Just try. Please just try.” 

 

That giant wall of germs was just inches away from her, she could hear it swarming on the other side of the wood, pushing against the door waiting to envelope her. She took another deep breath through her nose and counted to five. 

 

“If I unlock the door, will you wait 30 seconds and then let yourself in?” 

 

That way, she could be all the way across the room when the door opened and then maybe she’d be okay. Maybe then she’d be far enough away that the germs couldn’t reach her. 

 

“Of course, whatever you need.” Oliver said, his voice soft and soothing. 

 

“Don’t leave the door open too long, okay? Once you’ve opened it just- just be quick, okay?” 

 

“I can be inside in one second, Felicity. Two at most. Alright? Let me know when you’ve unlocked the door and I’ll count to 30 and then be inside by 32.” 

 

“Promise?” 

 

Her voice cracked. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry_ , she begged herself, digging her fingernails into her palms hard. 

 

“When have I ever lied to you, Felicity?” Oliver asked, his voice still so soft. 

 

Taking another deep breath, Felicity reached up and unlocked the door, the click of the lock turning sounding so loud and sinister inside her head. Already she was reaching for the antibacterial gel in her jeans pocket to rub fiercely into her hands. 

 

“It’s unlocked,”she told Oliver, even though she was sure he’d heard her unlock it anyway. 

 

“Do you want me to start counting now?” 

 

“Yeah, okay.” 

 

Turning her back from the door, Felicity quickly tried to decide where the best place to wait was. The sensible choice would be to just sit down on the couch and wait there but the couch felt too close to the door but she couldn’t hide in another room because that was just stupid even though all she wanted to do was hide in the bedroom which was the furthest away. 

 

How many seconds had passed? 

 

“Wait, Oliver, can you start again? I kind of haven’t been able to move yet.” Felicity said, trying to keep how frantic she was feeling from her voice. 

 

“It’s only been 5 seconds anyway, Felicity. I’m counting slowly, don’t worry.” 

 

How was he always so patient? She didn’t deserve him. 

 

Darting her eyes hurriedly back to her surroundings, she willed herself to decide quickly. Anywhere had to better than here, standing right next to the door when Oliver opened it. She glanced over at the double doors that led to her tiny balcony; she hadn’t used it in months, sometimes even looking out of the window made her anxious, let alone sitting out there. On the days where she could manage looking outside, she kept a stool over by the doors. She decided on that. That was far enough away from the front door for her to feel relatively safe, but still close enough that Oliver wouldn’t have to go looking for her once he got inside. 

 

She walked tentatively over to the stool. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t let her. Perching right on the edge of the seat, she closed her eyes and counted to ten inside her head, begging and pleading with herself to keep it together for just half an hour. Just half an hour and then she’d ask Oliver to leave, just half an hour was all she needed to not lose control. Once he was gone, she promised herself, she could just clean everything and change her clothes and then it would all be okay. It was going to be okay. Just half an hour. 30 minutes. That was all. 

 

“I’m gonna come in now, okay?” Oliver asked. 

 

“Yeah, okay,” 

 

True to his word, the door was open for no longer than two seconds before it was closed again and he was inside. She held her breath all the same, not wanting to breathe yet, just in case any of the germs had made it inside. If she just waited 20 seconds before she breathed, it would be okay. Whilst she focused on not breathing even though her lungs were burning, she’d barely been breathing properly to begin with let alone actually holding her breath now, she watched Oliver. She watched him go straight to the sink to wash his hands without saying a word, just like he’d promised. She would have liked him to spend longer washing them, but she couldn’t argue when she was trying not to open her mouth to stop any germs getting into her body. She watched him dry his hands with the roll of paper she kept by the sink, it was more hygienic than a towel and she watched him carry the paper across to the trash can on the other side of the kitchen. 

 

She’d reached 20 in her head. 20 seconds was enough, right? It had to be. She couldn’t sit here holding her breath much longer. Her face was probably going red from the lack of oxygen and she didn’t want Oliver to turn round and see that. She gave herself five more quick seconds and then let go of the breath she was holding, slowly and silently, and resisted the urge to gasp down a new breath, forcing herself to stay in control even though her chest was screaming for air. 

 

She looked up to find Oliver watching her. He smiled as soon as she caught his eyes but the expression on his face just a fraction of a second before that was the furthest thing from a smile.  
He’d been looking at her like he didn’t recognise her, but it was more than that. She’d seen that expression on his face only once before, when he’d first told her that his dad was dying, the first day he’d ever been to the hospital after one of his dad’s chemotherapy appointments. His eyes had been empty and sad, so sad, and each time he’d swallowed, she’d seen him struggle, as though even that was a reminder of life passing by too quickly. 

 

Why had he been looking at her like that? 

 

“Hey, you.” He smiled, sitting down on the couch. 

 

She smiled back. She’d turned the TV on so they could watch, but he wasn’t looking at it, he was only looking at her. 

 

“I’m sorry about… all that.” She offered, gesturing vaguely with her hands to indicate what she’d meant. 

 

“Only you would forget how to open a door.” He teased, smiling again so she’d know he didn’t mean it. 

 

She knew anyway. He was the only person who she believed came even halfway to understanding how she felt sometimes and she’d always told him that he was the only one besides her who was allowed to make jokes about it. 

 

“It’s tricky sometimes, you know?” 

 

He nodded but the humour was gone from his face. 

 

“Are you alright now?” he asked. 

 

“Mhmm. For now anyway.” 

 

 _Now you’re here, I am_ , she wanted to say. But of course, she didn’t. Something about Oliver made her feel so safe, and that alone scared her more than anything. She wasn’t allowed to let other people influence her emotions, because she couldn’t keep people around her for long. They always had to leave, she always made them leave, so what was the point in letting them make her feel something? 

 

“So. Jake is your new bestie, huh?” She joked, trying to lighten the mood. 

 

Oliver smiled instantly. 

 

“Yeah, it seems that way after last night. Sorry about that. Looks like you’re going to have to find someone else to fill the spot for you in your life.” He laughed, winking at her. 

 

“I still have Sara.” She shrugged, grinning. 

 

“I’m not sure either of us do after last night. She was absolutely smitten with the girl she went home with.” Oliver smiled, his eyebrows raised. 

 

“Sara? Smitten? I didn’t think she knew the meaning of the word. Was she cute, this other girl?” 

 

“She was beautiful. Definitely Sara’s type. She casually and expertly threw a drink at some guy who touched her ass and Sara was absolutely obsessed from then on. She wouldn’t leave her alone all night. Kept offering to buy her drinks until Nyssa, that was the girl’s name, just grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the club, telling me I was going to have to find someone else to party with the rest of the night because Sara would be occupied elsewhere.” 

 

Felicity laughed loudly. She hadn’t laughed properly in a really long time. It felt so good, so warm. 

 

“Whoever this Nyssa is, I think she and Sara are 100% destined to be together.” She smiled, once she’d finished laughing. 

 

Oliver was smiling too, looking at her as though he’d been watching her carefully. He looked as though he hadn’t even just heard her speak. 

 

“Oliver?” 

 

“Mmm?” 

 

Felicity wrinkled her brow. “Did you hear what I just said?” 

 

“Um, just something about Nyssa and Sara… right?” 

 

“Riiight…” 

 

He was still looking at her, but there was something different about his gaze now. She couldn’t work out what was wrong. It was making her nervous. She hated not being able to read people. For someone who had spent her entire life analysing other people’s emotions just looking for signs that she’d said or done the wrong thing, not being able to read someone’s expression or tell what they were thinking made her uncomfortable. Her face felt hot under his gaze and she started playing with her hair, desperately trying to think of something to say. 

 

Suddenly, Oliver asked, “Have you been eating enough?” 

 

“You said we weren’t going to talk about this stuff.” Felicity replied, avoiding his question, her internal defence mechanisms already kicking into gear. 

 

He nodded softly and looked away, but she could tell he wanted to ask something else. She watched him pretend to be watching the TV for awhile. 

 

“Can I please just ask you one thing, and you give me an honest answer, and then we’ll just watch TV or something?” he asked, looking over at her after a few minutes, his tone unsure. 

 

Felicity sighed, every single inch of her body itching to say no, to tell him to leave, to tell him she had things to do and she needed him to go. She looked away from him, fiddling with a tiny thread on her jeans so she couldn’t see his face at all. She fought silently with her brain for what felt like hours, trying to grasp onto the tiny fraction of it that was telling her to let him in, to let him help her. 

 

She caught his eye after a while and smiled, softly. 

 

“One question. And I’m not promising I’ll be able to answer.” 

 

It was just Oliver. He wouldn’t make her do or say anything she wasn’t ready to. She knew that. 

 

He smiled back at her, a small smile, a smile full of nerves and anxiety, and Felicity regretted instantly that she’d said he could ask her something. Somewhere deep inside her, she already knew what he was going to ask. 

 

“You haven’t been, you know, hurting yourself again, have you? You haven’t been-” 

 

“No.” She interrupted, the fierceness of her tone taking her by surprise. 

 

“No? As in, don’t ask you that, or no as in, no you haven’t?”

 

“Both.” 

 

“But- your hands. They look so awful.” He replied, his voice so quiet. 

 

“I wash them a lot, Oliver. Sometimes they bleed. I don’t do it on purpose. I don’t do that anymore. I’m not a stupid 16 year old anymore.” 

 

“You weren’t stupid. You were hurting. And I can see that you’re hurting now.” 

 

“No, I _was_ stupid. That's exactly what I was. But not anymore. I don’t do that anymore.” 

 

“So if I asked you to show me your arms or your thighs, you wouldn’t have a problem with that?” 

 

“Of course I would. But not for the reasons you’re thinking. I don’t have anything to prove to you, Oliver. I told you I don’t fucking cut myself anymore, alright? If you don’t believe me then you can just go.” Felicity argued, her entire body going warm with both anger and humiliation. 

 

She wasn't lying, she really hadn't hurt herself in a really long time and she hated to even think about the part of her that had turned to such a habit in the past, and Oliver bringing it up was triggering memories that she really tried her hardest never to think about anymore. Just hearing him speak made the once red but now silver lines criss-crossing across her body feel like they were burning. 

 

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just worried about you. You don’t talk to me, you don’t talk to anyone so forgive me for just assuming the worst, but all I have to go by is what I can see in front of me and that isn’t particularly reassuring. At all.” Oliver was trying not to get angry, Felicity could tell. 

 

“I never asked you to worry about me. I never asked you for anything.” She huffed, sounding not unlike the moody and bitter 16 year old she was trying to forget existed. 

 

“Yeah, well I wish you would. I wish you’d ask sometimes. I wish you’d ask me to lo-” 

 

Oliver stopped speaking, cutting himself off mid-sentence as though he’d been about to say something and then changed his mind. Instead he just sighed and looked at her. Looked at her like she was the only person who could ever break his heart. 

 

He reached out to touch her, and then seemed to remember that he wasn’t allowed to. 

 

“I’m sorry.” He said, softly, drawing his hand back and staring at his lap. 

 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

 

“No. It does. I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

 

Felicity didn’t know how to respond so she said nothing instead. 

 

“Do you want me to go?” 

 

“It’s up to you. I don’t think I’ll be much company anymore though.” 

 

Oliver stood up. 

 

“I’ll see you sometime next week, okay? I’ll come over again on Tuesday or something? We can just play a video game or something?” 

 

“Sure, whatever. I’ll call you.” 

 

Why was she being so cold? She wanted him to stay, she wanted to talk to him about everything, she wanted to watch pointless TV and order takeout and then maybe go out to a movie. Like normal people did. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t ask him to stay. She couldn’t tell him anything. The less he knew and the less time he spent around her, the happier and better off he would be. She was doing this for him. She was keeping her distance for his sake. 

 

He looked like he wanted to say something. He always looked at her like he wanted to tell her something these days, but then he never did. She supposed she looked at him the same way. She hoped he didn’t notice. 

 

“Thanks for coming over.” Felicity smiled, forcing her mouth to move even though she didn’t want it to. 

 

“Sure. I’ll see you next week then?” 

 

“Yeah. I’ll call you.” 

 

He looked unsure. She didn’t blame him. She probably wouldn’t call. 

 

“ _I will_. I promise.” 

 

She was such a liar. 

 

“Do you want to wait there and I’ll leave as quickly as I arrived?” He smiled, raising one eyebrow and tilting his head slightly, the tension from just moments ago already beginning to ebb away.

 

Felicity couldn’t help it. She laughed. 

 

“Please.” She giggled, hating herself for laughing at him when she was supposed to be pushing him away. 

 

He looked at her thoughtfully for a few seconds before saying, “You should laugh more, you know? It suits you.” 

 

She blushed- _why was she blushing?_ \- and scoffed. 

 

“Get out of here, weirdo.” She chuckled, smiling. 

 

Oliver shrugged innocently and smiled back, exiting her apartment after saying goodbye in exactly 2 seconds, just like he promised. 

 

Felicity felt relieved as soon as the door was closed again. She went over to the sink to wash her hands out of habit, but her heart wasn’t in it this time. She felt okay. She hated that she felt okay. She got sloppy when she felt okay, she wasn’t as strict with her routines and she knew she’d get sick if she didn’t complete her routines properly. This was why she kept people at a distance. Being around other people made her feel almost normal, and she wasn’t normal, she couldn’t ever be normal. Normal people were careless and gross and got sick all the time. She wasn’t like that, she couldn’t ever be like that. She had to keep everything clean, she had to keep everything perfect, even if that meant sacrificing so much; that was how she survived. 

 

She washed her hands again, and then again, and then again, scrubbing them until they were raw, and then scrubbing them again. She would not get sloppy. She would not let her routine slip. She made herself think about all the germs Oliver must have brought into her apartment from outside. He'd have taken a cab there, sat on a car seat that probably hundreds of people had sat on this week, hundreds of people carrying hundreds and thousands of bacteria, bacteria that had made its way onto his clothes and then into her apartment, onto her couch… he’d touched her sink! And now she’d touched the sink! She had to clean it. But she had to clean her hands too. She couldn't do both. To grab the bleach from under the sink meant transferring germs onto the cupboard and onto the bleach bottle and then wherever else she touched on the way but the longer she stood at the sink that hadn't been cleaned, the more she exposed herself to the bacteria that was already there. 

 

She felt sick. Her palms were sweating again. The world around her blurred until all she could feel was the bacteria crawling up her arms, crawling over her shoulders, crawling up her neck and then crawling into her mouth. She needed to throw up. But she couldn't. She felt like she’d die if she didn't, but she felt like she’d die if she did. 

 

She was frozen in the kitchen, a war taking place in her mind. 

 

Maybe she could do both? Bleach could clean her hands and clean the sink. And the cupboards and wherever else she’d touched. Maybe the couch again where Oliver had been sitting. Then she could just throw the bottle into the trash. 

 

Rationally she knew bleach wasn't supposed to come into contact with the skin, especially not her skin that was always so damaged from over-washing, but she didn't know what else to do. Before she could even think, she was pouring the bleach into her hands, into the sink, all over the countertops, down the cupboards and then throwing what was left over the couch too. She scrubbed her hands first and then used her now clean hands to scrub the sink down and then everywhere else too, even the couch cushions. The smell stung her nose and made her gag, but she couldn't stop. She couldn't stop until everything was clean. She had to make sure everything was clean. If everything wasn't clean then she’d get sick and die. Clean. That's all she needed things to be. 

 

She didn't even notice her hands burning at first. They’d stung as soon as the bleach touched them but that was nothing new; the skin was so damaged on her hands that almost everything stung, things like making a coffee, getting dressed, changing the channel on the TV. But at some point between having satisfied herself that the sink and cupboards were clean and moving onto getting the couch done, they really started to burn. She ignored it at first- good, she deserved to feel that pain, she was disgusting- but after about three minutes, it was almost unbearable. She could practically feel her skin sizzling, so much so that she had to stop scrubbing the couch, the pain was too much, it was all she could think about. When she looked at her hands they were bleeding all over, the cuts from over-washing that were constantly healing and then forming again were all trickling bright red blood. 

 

The pain was so bad that it took her breath away, now that she was aware of it. Before she knew it she was crying, gasping with pain and choked sobs, not knowing what to do with herself. 

 

What had she done? 

 

Before she even had chance to think about what she was doing, she was calling Oliver. She couldn't even remember how she’d managed to get her phone to cooperate given the state of her hands but all of a sudden she could hear his voice on the other end of the line. 

 

“Oliver? Can you come back? I think I've done something stupid.” She sobbed, trying to speak as coherently as possible but not really managing more than the odd syllable between sobs. 

 

“I'm just at the Starbucks down the street. I'll be right up. 30 seconds. Okay? Don't move.” 

 

“I'm so sorry.” She cried. “I didn't even want to call you but I don't know what else to do. I’ve made such a mess.” 

 

She couldn't hold the phone anymore, it hurt too much. 

 

“I really won't be able to answer the door this time.” She managed to say through her teeth, trying to grasp some smidgen of control from somewhere. 

 

“It's okay. I got a key made months ago. When you stopped leaving the house. I didn't know if I'd ever need to come in there and get you.” Oliver replied, his voice was calm but he was slightly breathless, as though he was running. 

 

Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she should be angry that he had a key to her place without her knowing. This was _her_ place. How many times had he come over without her knowing? Would he ever do that? She knew she should be furious, but she couldn't remember how to think clearly about anything other than the pain in her hands. She wanted to scream. She was about to do just that when she heard the lock turn. 

 

She couldn't even look at Oliver as he burst into her apartment. She was still aware enough of the situation to be absolutely humiliated, even though the pain was making it hard for her to breathe now. Could pain do that? Could pain make it hard to breathe? She didn't know. She hoped it could, because if it couldn't, it meant that she couldn't breathe for a different reason and she didn't have time or the presence of mind to do anything about that. 

 

“Felicity? What did you do?” Oliver asked, but it wasn't even a question, not really. 

 

It was pretty obvious what she’d done given the state of her hands and the stink of bleach in the air and the empty bottle on one of the couch cushions where she’d dropped it. 

 

“My hands hurt so much.” She sobbed. “I don't know what to do.” 

 

“I'm going to have to touch you, okay?” Oliver asked her. He was trying to stay calm but even in her own panic, she could hear the frantic edge to his voice. 

 

“Did you wash you hands?” 

 

“Felicity, listen to me. Nothing is going to happen if I touch you, okay? But I need to be able to touch you so I can help you, okay? Please let me help you.”

 

“No. Please just-” she broke off to let out a sob that was crushing her chest. “Wash your hands. Please. Please, Oliver.” 

 

But he wasn't listening. He had hold of her wrists with one hand and the other hand around her back, lifting her up from the ground, trying to get her to stand. 

 

“Wash them!” She screamed. “Don't touch me!”

 

Why did she still care so much about his hands when hers felt like they were on fire? 

 

She tried to pull away but he wouldn't let her. Had he always been this strong? He was making shushing noises in her ear as he all but dragged her over to the sink, his soft and gentle hums sounding so out of place against her cries and her racing heart and the ringing in her ears. 

 

She felt herself being lifted up- how had he lifted her so easily?- and suddenly she was sat on the countertop, one leg either side of Oliver’s hips, him still holding onto her wrists, except now he was holding them firmly under the cold water spilling from the tap. 

 

She was aware of herself crying and pleading some more, still pleading with him not to touch her, the pain radiating throughout her entire body, the cold water feeling almost like liquid fire running onto her hands. 

 

“Please, Oliver.” She begged. “It hurts. Please stop.” 

 

“Ssshsssh. This will make it better, I promise.” He whispered, almost as if he were refusing to raise his voice even though she could hardly hear it over her cries. “Stay there. I need to get some ice.” 

 

He could almost reach the freezer from where they stood, but not quite. He draped one arm across her lap, pressing down just enough to stop her from moving, whilst he reached over with his other hand and searched for ice. 

 

She knew she should be angry that he was touching everything, contaminating everything, but the pain was consuming her every thought. Would it ever end? 

 

Seconds later, Oliver was pressing ice into her palms, still keeping them under the running water, and curling her fingers around it, telling her not to let go. “Keep hold of that.” He was saying. Like she had any choice given that he was curling his own fingers around hers so tightly that she couldn't move them even a centimetre. 

 

The ice was helping. Slightly. It too was burning, but it was a different kind of burn. There was a soothing edge to it. 

 

But all too soon he was uncurling her fingers and dropping the ice into the sink. 

 

“Wait, what?! That was helping!” She wailed. 

 

“I don't think I'm supposed to use ice. I think ice makes the burns worse. I'm sure I've read that somewhere!” He was definitely frantic now, she could see it in his eyes. 

 

 _Stupid bitch, now look what you've done? He’s so scared and it’s all your fault_ , her head spat at her. 

 

“It's okay, it’s not your fault! It was my own stupid fault! I've made such a mess of everything.” She tried to say, but she knew for a fact that at least 40% of her sentence was mangled by her sobs. 

 

“Just keep your hands under the tap, okay? I'm going to call 911.”

 

“NO! You can't! Oliver, please don't call anyone! They'll make me go to hospital and I can't, there's so many germs and diseases in hospitals and I can't go there, I'll die if I go there. Please don't make me go, I just can't, I can't. I can't leave here. I just can't. I can't, I can't, I can't, I ca-” 

 

Her sentence fell short as her head was on his chest so suddenly then, pulled tight against him, one arm wrapped around her holding her there, the other still trying to keep her hands under the water, and even though she could feel herself still whimpering and crying against him, she couldn't hear herself anymore. 

 

“It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.” He was whispering into her hair, over and over. “It's going to be okay.” 

 

There wasn't anything else she could do anymore besides let herself be held. Besides let him lie to her over and over. It wasn't going to be okay, it never was, but she couldn't even argue anymore. All of her fight had been exhausted. She had nothing left. 

 

So she let him hold her, let him whisper into her hair, still just sitting on the countertop, the pain still burning and consuming almost every thought.

 

She wondered what it felt like to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave me a comment! I find it super difficult to continue writing without encouragement from others and so every single comment means the absolute world to me!
> 
> Feel free to leave any prompts or questions for me on Tumblr! My ask is right [HERE](http://wetsuiton.tumblr.com/ask) and I'm on there everyday :)


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay at getting this uploaded! I had every intention of uploading it at the normal time but I came home from performing in the show and was so exhausted that I fell asleep almost immediately after taking my makeup off which NEVER happens D: 
> 
> Anyway! This chapter is a lot less heavy than the other two have been. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you again for all the support on this story; I'm actually overwhelmed by it because I never expected anyone to like this. 
> 
> Thanks as always to @candykizzes24 for the cover artwork and @phangirlingforphan for the beta work. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think once you've finished reading!

 

The next few hours passed in a bit of a blur. 

 

Oliver made her take some painkillers at some point, and they helped to ease the pain enough so that he could actually look at the damage she’d done without having to hear her scream and cry. Her hands were a mess, he’d said, but they could have been worse. Miraculously, the skin hadn't blistered or charred, those kinds of injuries she would have needed proper medical care to treat. Still, he’d all but begged her to let him take her to the ER but it had been pointless on his behalf. She simply wouldn't let him, and eventually he’d dropped it, turning to the internet to find out how to look after her himself the best he could. She hadn't told him that she couldn't really feel her fingertips anymore; at least if they were numb, she wasn't in pain there. And, if she’d said anything about that, he probably, no, he _definitely_ would have picked her up and carried her through to the ER himself, even if she was crying and kicking and screaming. She hadn't told him much at all really, she’d just been quiet ever since the pain had dulled enough for her to stop crying. She’d been scared to say anything, she still was. He wasn't talking much either. He’d sat her down on the couch, the other couch, not the one that was drenched in bleach, and told her to rest whilst he cleaned up the apartment. She hadn't wanted to agree, she’d wanted him to leave so she could clean it herself, he would never be able to do it right, but she hadn't had the energy. She’d watched him for a long time, watched him take the cushions off of the couch and put them by the door. She hadn't asked why, but he’d told her anyway that she couldn't have them anymore, that they were ruined and that he was going to get her some new ones. She hadn't argued. 

 

She’d watched him throw away the empty bleach bottle and then clean up the mess she'd made in the kitchen. In the midst of her frenzied cleaning, she’d managed to spill bleach all over the floor. She’d watched him clean the floor and then she’d watched him rinse out the sink that was also full of bleach. She’d watched him wipe the countertops where she’d been sitting and then the rest of them too where she hadn't, just because. Just because it was something he’d probably seen her do a thousand times and he would always do whatever he could to reassure her and make her feel better. 

 

She was pretending to be asleep now. 

 

She’d laid herself down on the couch, her hands hanging off the edge of the fabric so they couldn't rub against it accidentally. Painkillers or no painkillers, touching anything was absolutely unbearable right now. She hoped that if she pretended to be asleep, Oliver would just leave. 

 

She could hear him still in the kitchen. It sounded like he was making some dinner. Wait, what time was it? She couldn't remember. Had she even eaten today? She couldn't remember that either. 

 

She tried to just focus on staying as still as possible, but knowing he was there was so distracting. She kept thinking back to earlier, when he’d held her against him and refused to let go. No one had ever done that before. At first she’d been so angry, absolutely furious that he’d touched her and probably contaminated her with something, but she’d also been too consumed by the pain in her hands to push him away. Even though her brain screamed endlessly about how she was going to get sick if she didn't get away from him, she couldn't do anything to make him let her go. The harder she cried, the tighter he held on. And after awhile, she’d just given up trying to fight him. She’d let him rub circles into her lower back, she’d let him run his fingers through her hair, combing over her scalp, trying to calm her as the painkillers worked their way into her system, she’d let him keep her hands pressed under the stream of water, feeling him stroke the back of her forearm the entire time with his thumb, back and forth, back and forth, until even despite the cold water making her shiver, she started to feel warm. Okay, so it had almost definitely been the painkillers that were making her feel warm- he must have found some pretty good ones in her medicine cabinet- but she didn't doubt that being so close to someone for the first time in her life had probably helped the warmth spread quicker. 

 

She'd never been that close to someone before, she’d never let herself be that close to someone. 

 

Her entire life she’d gone for fleeting hugs where she pulled away after a few seconds, even as a child, before affection was something that really didn't come easy and she panicked obsessively over every single germ a person might be carrying on them. Hugs from her parents had been quick ones before they bustled out of the door to work, one armed hugs with steaming coffee clutched in the other, eyes glancing at watches as they pulled away after only a second or two. From being a young child, that was how all hugs worked, Felicity had believed. They were quick and ended before you could properly embrace someone. You didn't linger, you pulled them in swiftly and then let go again. She couldn't remember a time in her life where she’d ever thought differently. Until one day, when she was around 6 years old, and Sara had made her wonder. 

 

They'd been playing in Sara’s playroom. Sara’s sister Laurel was out at a friend’s birthday party so they had all the toys to themselves; Laurel never let them play with her toys, she always kept them to herself, telling them they were too young to touch them, even though she was only two years older than them anyway. So knowing she was out and wouldn't be home for hours was so exciting. They’d played with her dolls, playing “Mommies and Daddies”, Sara volunteering to be the dad because she “hated wearing skirts and stuff anyway” with a giggle. 

 

So Felicity had been the mom and they'd been a married couple with three little girl babies. Halfway into their game, Sara had decided it was bedtime for the babies so mommy and daddy could have some time together. They'd wrapped the babies up in blankets and then put them into the little pink, plastic cribs next to the couch. Sara had turned on the pretend TV, saying they were going to watch a grown up movie and that they should cuddle up so they didn't get scared. She’d pulled Felicity up against her, wrapped one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist, and pressed their bodies together. 

 

“What are you doing?” Felicity had asked. 

 

“I'm just hugging you. This is how my mom and dad hug.” Sara had replied. 

 

“This isn't how to hug.” Felicity had argued. 

 

Sara had looked confused. 

 

“Of course it is! This is how everyone hugs!” 

 

“It's not. This is stupid. I don't like it. I don't want to play anymore.” Felicity had insisted, pulling away. “Let's get the babies up and take them to the park instead.” 

 

Sara had looked puzzled for only a second before the excitement of taking the babies to the park had kicked in and she’d smiled and jumped off the couch, already dashing over to the crib to wake the dolls. 

 

Felicity had gone home that afternoon and almost asked her mom about it. Donna had picked her up on her way back from work and Felicity hadn't been able to stop thinking about what Sara had said the entire drive home. She tried to think if she’d ever seen her own parents hug. She didn't think she had. And certainly not in the way Sara had said her mom and dad hugged. Felicity was lucky if she even saw her parents in the same room as each other for more than 10 seconds these days, let alone saw them hugging. She'd come so close to asking her mom why they didn't hug properly, but she hadn't in the end, she’d never been one to ask questions, even back then when she was a child. She’d just kept it to herself and let it worry her as she tried to fall asleep for several nights in a row, listening carefully for any signs that her parents were even talking to each other downstairs. They usually weren't. On the rare days when they were both off work during the evening, Felicity’s dad would either be at his computer or reading in the dining room. The only time he spoke to her mom was when he asked what was for dinner. That was just they way her family were. And up until that day with Sara, she’d thought every family were the same. 

 

Sara had never forgotten the way Felicity had pulled away from her that day and since then, had never really been big on enforcing hugs. She and Oliver had never hugged as kids either because ew, he was a boy and boys were gross. Sara had told her that. Felicity believed almost everything Sara told her. 

 

And then, as Felicity had grown up, her issues with affection and intimacy had become more than just not knowing how to hug and she’d slowly just stopped letting people near her both physically and emotionally all together. 

 

Her issues became _so_ much more than not wanting hugs, or not knowing how to hug. They became not wanting to look like she ever needed anything from anyone, whilst deep down, that was the only thing she could ever think about, the only thing she ever wanted. Seeing both Oliver and Sara with their parents began to break Felicity's heart. As much as she always enjoyed her own solitude as a child and teenager, the older she grew, the more she felt the absence of any kind of closeness with her parents, particularly her mom as her mom was the only parent she still had in her life. 

 

She would go home with Sara from school sometimes on the days where she didn't have extra curriculars to do, and watch her run over to give her dad a hug, him ruffling her hair or kissing her head as he asked her about her day. As she grew into a teenager, Sara seemed to need hugs less, but Felicity could see the ease in their relationship even then, in the way he asked if she needed help with her homework or made her favourite for dinner on days where she seemed stressed or distant. Even Sara’s mom who worked a lot just like Felicity’s mom did, still made sure she was home in time for dinner whenever she could, and they’d all sit down at the table to eat together, Felicity always feeling like an outsider there, like she never belonged and wasn't really welcome, even though Sara’s family involved her in conversation and never treated her any differently when she was around them. She was jealous of the way Sara’s family worked, jealous of the way they all interacted with each other so effortlessly, she was even jealous of the way Sara and Laurel would fight with each other for the most stupid reasons, because at least they were communicating, they were telling each other how they felt. She knew Sara admired her sister so much deep down, and even though she’d never admit it, she knew Laurel would do anything for her sister too. The two of them were fiercely independent, but always needed and loved each other deeply so below the surface. 

 

Oliver’s family dynamic differed from Sara’s in that it wasn't always as easy to see how much love they shared. His parents were always so poised and preened, and they made sure Oliver and his sister Thea always were too as children. 

 

Oliver’s dad was more open with his affection and he always made such a fuss of Felicity whenever she was over, constantly asking her questions about school, always the one asking if she and Oliver wanted snacks or if they wanted to go and play in the yard with him. He told dumb jokes all the time and whilst Oliver always acted as though he was annoyed, she would catch him smiling or chuckling to himself once his dad had left the room. 

 

Robert Queen was so different to his wife, though, and it had taken a long time to understand what it was about their marriage that just made it work. He always talked so fondly of Moira, telling Oliver almost everyday that he hoped he found someone to marry who was just like his mother one day. 

 

When Felicity first went over to Oliver’s house, his mother had seemed so cold and intimidating, demanding that she take off her shoes before entering the house and then yelling at her and Oliver several times in just one hour for making too much noise. She'd been afraid of Moira Queen for a long time, but when she’d voiced her fear to Oliver after he’d asked her one time to go downstairs and get them some glasses of milk from the kitchen, saying that she didn't want to go in case she bumped into his mom, he’d just laughed and told her not to be so silly. His mom loved her, apparently, she was just extremely house proud, that was all. She hadn't believed him at first but ended up doing so just a few weeks later when they were out playing in the yard and Felicity tripped and fell hard, scuffing her knees on the concrete and making them bleed. Moira was outside and helping her up before she could even start to cry, and soon she was sitting her down on the couch and cleaning up her knees. Whilst she was doing so, she told Felicity stories, stories about everything and nothing so that she was distracted enough to not think too much if her knees were stinging. After she’d finished up and pressed a pink bandaid on each knee, she kissed her forehead quickly before sending her back outside to play. Felicity was a lot less scared of Oliver’s mom after that. And it was that genuine need Moira possessed to make everything better, whether it was skinned knees or an unclean kitchen, that she guessed made Oliver’s dad love her so much. She just cared so much about everything, and whilst she could be intimidating and cold when she wanted to be, deep down, Moira just wanted everything to be perfect. 

 

When Thea was born, Felicity saw a side to Oliver’s mom that she’d never seen before. Moira Queen, it seemed, just _loved_ babies, she was _obsessed_ with them. She kissed and cuddled and doted on Thea every single second, and Oliver, well, Oliver was absolutely equally as obsessed with his little sister as his mom was. She didn't think anyone in the world had ever loved anyone as much as Oliver loved Thea. She still didn't. There wasn't anything Oliver wouldn't do for Thea, that was a certain, and she guessed that Thea probably felt the same way about Oliver too, even if sometimes he was slightly _too_ overprotective of his now 21 year old sister. 

 

The Queen family had never quite been the same since Robert died, in more ways than one. Oliver became fiercely protective over his mother too, as well as Thea, believing he had to take his father’s place in the family. Even now, it was hard for him to accept that no one was asking him to; he just had such a desire and need to look out for the people loved, and she supposed he filled the emptiness he must have been experiencing without his father around, with trying to take his place. 

 

Moira was different without Robert. She was still a strong and powerful woman, but there was a softness to her edges now, an empty glance at an empty chair when she thought her children weren't looking. She held them closer, told them she loved them more, almost as if she'd realised suddenly that any one of them could be gone in a heartbeat. Gone went the cold exterior inside her own home, replaced by warm smiles and requests to spend quality time with her children whenever she could. 

 

It was a beautiful outcome to an extremely awful event. 

 

Felicity had spent a lot of time growing up, wondering what she’d ever done to make her own family so cold, so seemingly loveless. As an adult now, she mostly just wondered what had happened to her parents to make them too struggle so much with affection and love. Nowadays she knew it was mostly her fault; she pushed people away so violently sometimes that they felt they had no way of pulling back. She guessed that her mom probably felt like that quite often with her. 

 

So for her to have let Oliver just hold her, to have let herself be held so close and so tightly, was so strange and so _new_ ; it was a feeling Felicity had never even come close to experiencing. Every single bone and muscle in her body had wanted to push him away, but as soon as she’d accepted that she _couldn't_ , that he wouldn't let her, for a few fleeting seconds amongst the pain and anguish, she’d almost felt peaceful. Normal. Safe. The fear and discomfort had well outweighed those things, but they had been there all the same. 

 

People always just let her pull away. No one ever held onto her, ever. And whilst she was glad about that, she’d always wondered what it would be like to have someone just once, make her feel like she was worth holding on to. 

 

She heard Oliver walk over to her from the kitchen. She heard him place something down on the coffee table and then sit down on the floor by the couch. She kept her eyes closed and tried to keep her breathing slow and deep. Part of her was still hoping he’d leave if he thought she was asleep. 

 

She almost flinched when she felt him touch her hair, when she felt one of his fingers brush by her eyebrow as he tucked some fallen strands of hair behind her ear. She wanted to open her eyes, she wanted to tell him to stop, but she also just wanted to lie there pretending to be asleep forever. So she stayed still, trying her hardest not to think about anything at all. 

 

She felt Oliver move his hand from her hair to her cheek, where he rested it for just a few seconds before he sighed and then pulled it back. She felt his breath on her face, warm and smelling like peppermint, and although she instinctively held her own breath, trying not to breathe anything in, she couldn't help the goosebumps that ran along her body at the sensation of feeling him so close to her. 

 

She felt his hands on her wrists then and she guessed he was looking at her hands again, checking to see if they’d gotten any worse over the last hour. They were slowly starting to sting again, she noticed, as she felt his gaze on them. How much time had passed? Was she ready for another painkiller? 

 

Her eyes fluttered open without her consent and she silently cursed inside her head when she met his gaze. He smiled at her. She smiled back, a small smile, a small smile that almost fell as she watched him move back away from her, seeming to realise that he wasn't usually allowed to be so close. 

 

“It's okay.” She whispered, her voice surprisingly hoarse. Had she actually fallen asleep at some point? “I’m fine. You can stay there.” 

 

She never dreamed she’d ever be able to tell anyone that they could stay close to her. Maybe she wasn't due another painkiller just yet. She was clearly still feeling the effects of the last one Oliver had given her. 

 

“Are you sure?” Oliver sounded just as surprised as she felt. 

 

“Yeah. I mean- yeah. It's okay. There is okay. For now.” 

 

He smiled again, and she could see relief in his eyes. 

 

“Did I fall asleep?” She asked. 

 

Oliver chuckled. 

 

“I think so. Just for a bit.”

 

“What time is it?” 

 

“Almost 4.” 

 

“I never sleep during the day…” She mused to herself, not really needing to say anything out loud but doing so all the same. 

 

Oliver smiled. “I made you some lunch. Nothing much, just a sandwich. No dairy or meat or anything. Just with those chips you always used to love when you were a kid. I found some in the cupboard.” 

 

“Did you check the date on them? And on the bread?” 

 

“I did. And they're fine. Both perfectly in date. But I left the packaging out just in case you wanted to check. Do you want to check?” 

 

Did she? Should she? 

 

This was Oliver. He’d never intentionally do anything that could make her sick, would he? 

 

She was pretty sure she’d bought both the chips and the bread only last week. But she bought both so frequently, she always ate the same foods, that maybe she was confusing them for another time when she’d bought them. She really should check. She always checked. She always checked three, four, maybe five times, in fact. 

 

“I won't be offended if you want to check.” He added, clearly sensing her anguish. 

 

She smiled. 

 

“No. It’s okay. I trust you.” 

 

Did she? Did she really trust him? She wasn't sure. But she was doing this anyway. He made her feel like she could. 

 

She sat up, curling her legs underneath her. Oliver placed the plate on her lap. 

 

“Maybe I could have another one of those painkillers before I eat this?” She asked. “I'm not sure I'm going to be able to even pick this up otherwise.” 

 

“I have them right here.” He smiled, placing two white pills in the palm of her hand, careful to avoid any places which had been bleeding earlier. “And don't worry, I just washed my hands twice.” 

 

She didn't even care at this point. She just wanted the dull stinging in her hands that was slowly starting to grow again to disappear. She just wanted the nagging voice inside her head that was starting to remind her of all the possible ways she could be getting sick to be quiet again. Usually she relented giving up control in any way, but right now she just didn't have the energy to deal with the anxiety she could feel building inside her again. She had nothing left. 

 

She swallowed the pills down without water, she wouldn't have been able to hold the glass anyway, and then started on her sandwich, ignoring the best she could when her head reminded her that she hadn't washed her hands. She _couldn't_ wash her hands. There was no way her special soap or antibacterial gel wouldn't hurt like hell if she used them. She had no choice but to just eat without washing her hands, for the first time in almost 10 years. 

 

Today was becoming a day of firsts in a lot of ways. 

 

“Can we talk?” Oliver asked, after a few seconds of just watching her eat. 

 

“For once, I would actually kind of appreciate that right now. My head is being kind of a bitch and I really don't want to have to listen to it.” 

 

A pained expression crossed Oliver’s face. 

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

“Mhmm. Whatever. Just talk. Tell me about something good.” 

 

“The Giants won their first game in the Playoffs series.” 

 

Felicity rolled her eyes. 

 

“Cmon, Oliver. You know I have no idea what that means.” 

 

Oliver laughed. His laugh was infectious and made her feel warm inside. The painkillers must be kicking in already. 

 

“Can I ask you something?” He asked, his tone suddenly somber and serious. 

 

“In about a minute I'll be high on these painkillers so yeah, okay.” Felicity laughed. 

 

Oliver smiled, but it was forced. She watched him as he tried to gather his thoughts. It never failed to amaze her just how little Oliver had changed. Sure, of course he looked different now, but his eyes were the same as they'd always been. Big and round and blue and always full of hope. They were the same eyes that told her at 5 years old how awesome the world was, how massive and how cool it was. They were the same eyes that told her at 11 years old that she was way too smart for 6th grade, that talked her out of a panic attack before class even though it made him late. They were the same eyes that had reminded her when she quit her job, _again_ , that it wasn't the end of the world, that she could still take over the world one day if she wanted to. They were the same eyes she’d looked at almost every day of her life in some way or another, yet somehow, she felt like she was seeing them for the first time. 

 

“Will you ever let anyone love you?” Oliver asked, abruptly cutting off her internal monologue and throwing her for an absolute loop. 

 

What kind of a question was that? 

 

And what kind of answer was he looking for? 

 

“I don't know what you want me to say…” Felicity admitted, feeling uncomfortable under the sudden intensity of Oliver’s gaze. 

 

“I'm just trying to figure out how you'd react if someone told you that they love you, that's all.” 

 

“But why? Why do you care?” 

 

“Because I- _because_ , I care about you, Felicity.” 

 

She wanted to ask him why, ask him why he cared about her, because she genuinely couldn't understand most of the time, but she didn't think that was a conversation she was ready for. Not if the look in his eye was anything to go by. 

 

“I don't want things to change between us, Oliver.”

 

“They won't. Not ever.” He promised. 

 

She believed him. He’d never lied to her. 

 

“Can we… save _this_ for another time, please? I just don't think I have the energy for it right now. I think I just need to sleep.” 

 

“Do you want me to stay?” 

 

 _Yes_ , she wanted to say. “No, I'll be okay. I'll call you if I need anything though.”

 

She wouldn't. But she knew that's what he needed to hear. He’d never leave otherwise. 

 

“Are you sure? You're not going to struggle too much with your hands or anything?” 

 

He really wanted to stay. She could tell. 

 

“I'll be fine, I promise. As long as I can take those painkillers every four hours, I'll be fine. I'm just gonna probably take a shower and have an early night. I'll be okay.” She smiled, wanting desperately to reassure him, because she needed to be alone, and because she couldn't bear the thought of him worrying about her. 

 

“Okay.” He sounded unsure but he stood up to leave anyway. “I'll come and see you tomorrow, okay?” 

 

“Sure.”

 

“Maybe we could go out for a walk?” 

 

“But it's Sunday. I don't like leaving the house during the weekend. It's too busy and-” 

 

“Just think about it, okay?” He interrupted before she could make a lengthy excuse. “For me.” 

 

Felicity rolled her eyes. She couldn't help it. 

 

“Don't emotionally blackmail me, Oliver.” She laughed. 

 

He looked hurt. 

 

“Hey, that's not what I was trying to do. I didn't mean-” 

 

“I’m _kidding_. It was a joke.” 

 

Oliver looked like he didn't get it. He nodded, a small nod, and then stood up to leave. 

 

“Promise me you'll call if you need anything, okay? I'll leave my phone on all the time. All night even. Okay?” 

 

“Yes, _okay_." For one of the first times in her life, she meant it. "Just _go_.” She teased, smiling up at him.

 

Finally, he smiled back. 

 

“I'm sorry if I made things weird earlier, by the way.” 

 

“Like I said. Not today. Another time.” 

 

He smiled, looking hopeful. She found herself smiling back. 

 

“Okay. I'll see you tomorrow then?”

 

“And I'll think about going for that walk. I promise.” 

 

“Good. Ignore what I said about doing it for me, though. I want you to do it for you.” 

 

Felicity almost snorted. She couldn't remember the last time she’d done anything just for herself and she didn't think she’d be able to change that anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave me a comment! I find it super difficult to continue writing without encouragement from others and so every single comment means the absolute world to me!
> 
> Feel free to leave any prompts or questions for me on Tumblr! My ask is right [HERE](http://wetsuiton.tumblr.com/ask) and I'm on there everyday :)


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to @candykizzes24 for the cover artwork and to @phangirlingforphan for the beta work. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

True to her word, somehow Felicity had managed to shower and get an early night last night. She’d taken a nap as soon as Oliver had left, and okay, that was mostly because she just didn't want to think about their conversation, but also because she really had been tired. Maybe it was a side effect of the painkillers. Taking a shower had been difficult; the water had opened a few of the cuts on her hands and made them sting so much that she thought she might actually pass out, but somehow she’d managed to get her usual shower routine completed. She’d made herself another sandwich after her shower, this time checking that the food _was_ still in date and okay to eat (it was), and then she’d sat and watched TV whilst she ate, making sure to redirect her mind elsewhere whenever it started to wonder about Oliver. After just an hour, she’d been tired again and had given up and gone to bed after taking another of the painkillers and for the first time in years, she’d slept straight through the night without waking once, and without dreaming. 

 

She’d woken up around 7 this morning with a headache and a dull throbbing in her hands, but that was all.

 

She wasn't sick. She couldn't believe it. She’d spent _so much_ time around another person for the majority of her day, and somehow she didn't seem to be sick. She’d laid deadly still after waking up this morning, mentally checking over every single inch of her body for signs that things were just not right, but besides the headache which she could definitely put down to not having had enough to drink yesterday and probably another side effect of the painkillers, and the obvious pain in her hands, she had come up empty. She was experiencing no symptoms. In fact, she didn't even feel too nauseous this morning and she _always_ felt nauseous in a morning. Maybe she’d been seriously underestimating just how good getting enough sleep could make her feel. Already, today was reminding her of one of those better days that had always seemed buried so far in her past lately. 

 

Maybe she’d actually be able to go on that walk with Oliver today. 

 

A better day, however, didn't mean she could be slack with her routine. And neither did being slightly handicapped at the moment. 

 

Felicity stretched and then threw back her bed covers, fumbling on the bedside table for her glasses. Placing them on her nose, she headed for the bathroom to take her first shower, just like she did every morning as soon as she woke. 

 

Turn on the water, scalding hot. Get in. Scrub every single inch of your body with a brand new shower poof. Wash your hair. 2 minutes in the scalp. 2 minutes on the ends. 2 minutes everywhere else. Rinse it out. Repeat. Repeat again, just for good measure. Repeat again, just because you spent a lot of time around someone else yesterday and you need to make sure you're fully clean. Ignore the pain in your hands. You have to finish. You'll get sick if you don't finish. Stand under the scalding water for as long as you can stand it, and then for 2 minutes more. Turn off the water. Get out. Air dry if you have time, to avoid having to use a towel that could have germs in it. Brush your teeth. 5 minutes top. 5 minutes bottom. Repeat. Repeat again because you spent a lot of time around someone else yesterday and you need to make sure you're fully clean. Throw the toothbrush out and take out a new one. Ignore the pain in your hands. You deserve it. 

 

Once she was done in the bathroom, Felicity headed back into her bedroom and started changing her bedsheets. She’d changed them yesterday and she usually only changed them twice a week but she needed to take precautions after being around Oliver all day yesterday. Just because she wasn't feeling sick now, didn't mean she wouldn't start feeling sick later. In fact, thinking about it now, she was definitely starting to feel sick. The sheets had to come off. 

 

Her hands were sore, so sore, but she couldn't bring herself to step out of the bedroom to take a painkiller, not when so much had to be done, not when so much of her room could possibly be contaminated and she'd just innocently, and stupidly, slept in it all night. 

 

So off went the sheets. On went new ones. Her hands screamed each time the fabric rubbed against them and by the time she’d finished, she was crying, gritting her teeth in pain. 

 

Okay, maybe she wasn't going to have a better day after all. 

 

She moved onto cleaning the rest of the room and then the bathroom. Each room had a cupboard with its own cleaning supplies so she wouldn't have to walk into another room, thus possibly contaminating it with something, to get cleaning supplies from under the sink where most people kept them. 

 

Cleaning the bedroom and bathroom entirely took almost two hours. It usually took an hour but she had to keep stopping because of her hands. The more she cleaned, the more her hands hurt and the more frequently she had to stop to give them a few seconds break. She tried wearing rubber gloves after a while but they didn't help; any of the cuts that had opened just stuck to the fabric and she couldn't help but feel like she needed to take them off and replace them with a new pair every five minutes anyway because it was common knowledge that germs thrived on damp, tight places (like the ends of the fingertips in rubber gloves, she guessed) and that all just added time onto the whole cleaning process. 

 

When she finally made it out of her bedroom and into the rest of the apartment, it was already 10am. 

 

As much as she knew she needed to clean the rest of her apartment, there was no way she was going to be able to do it without first taking another of the painkillers. She went to take her normal everyday meds after that as well. Taking out the box from her medicine cabinet, she expected to find a week’s worth of both left, her probiotics and her anti-anxieties. But as she opened the boxes, she found them empty, the empty trays just pushed back inside. 

 

Had she really taken them all already? 

 

She could have sworn she had at least a week’s worth left. She always made sure she had at least a week’s worth left so she could start preparing herself ahead of time for the trip she'd inevitably have to take to the pharmacy. 

 

Instinctively, her mind blamed Oliver. He'd been in her apartment all day yesterday, even whilst she slept. He must've known she was taking too many and had taken the rest away from her. 

 

But before she could get too angry, for once the rational part of brain reminded her just how bad the last few weeks had been. Would it really be that unreasonable to have just been taking them more often, and for being too wrapped up in the stress and struggle of it all to realise that she was running dangerously low on her meds until it was too late? Probably not. _Definitely not_. 

 

Maybe she would have to take that walk with Oliver after all. To the pharmacy and back. 

 

But how could she go outside without taking her meds first? Even on her better days, if she went out she needed to take them. Let alone on a day like today when she’d spent the entire day before exposed to god knows what. Her immune system was probably already going into meltdown after having been around another person all day, let alone having to go out without taking any kind of precautions with medication. 

 

Plus, she had the rest of the apartment to clean. She couldn't do anything until it was clean. But it was Sunday, and the pharmacy was only open until 12. 

 

She needed her meds today, but she couldn't go out to collect them. She needed to clean her apartment, but she didn't have enough time to do that before the pharmacy closed. She couldn't do anything. There wasn't anything she could do, about anything. She was stuck, once again, frozen in the kitchen with a war raging inside her mind, a war full of seemingly impossible decisions, neither of which she was willing to take. 

 

She took a deep breath, in through her nose and then out through her mouth. Rational thinking. She was going to think rationally today. Even if she didn't believe it deep down, she was determined to think rationally. 

 

Most importantly today, she needed to get her meds. If she didn't get them today and instead spent her time cleaning, that would be two days without them. Two days was a long time. Two days was more than enough time to get sick. She could clean the apartment as soon as she got back. If she went out now, she could be at the pharmacy and back in just over an hour. She knew the route like clockwork. And if she called Oliver and asked him to come with her, they could talk and it would hopefully keep her distracted enough. Plus, she could just overcompensate with her hand gel until she had her meds. Even if it hurt her hands. It would be better than nothing. 

 

She called Oliver. He answered on the second ring. 

 

“Are you ready to go for that walk?” She asked, as soon as he answered. 

 

“Of course! Are you sure?” She could hear him smiling. 

 

“I'm sure. I mean, I'm not _sure_ , but I'm sure I need to go.” 

 

Oliver chuckled. 

 

“Anywhere in particular you want to go?”

 

“Well, actually I do need to go to the pharmacy. I'm out of my meds and as you know, I kind of can't cope without them.” 

 

“Do you just want to go to the pharmacy? Or did you want to go anywhere else whilst we’re out?” 

 

“Um… just the pharmacy. I think. But maybe I'll just see how I feel once I'm out. And maybe once I've been able to take my meds, I might feel like I can do something else.” 

 

“I'm really proud of you for this.” Oliver said, softly.

 

Felicity laughed. 

 

“Don't be. I might forget how to even open the door again yet.” 

 

“You're gonna be fine. I can tell.” 

 

Felicity rolled her eyes. 

 

“I'll meet you downstairs in half an hour?” She asked. 

 

The sooner they met, the less time she had to talk herself out of this. She knew the painkillers were messing with her judgement slightly, but she didn't know if it would be enough to actually get her out of the door if she let herself think about it for too long. 

 

“I can meet you down there in 15 minutes if you want? I'm ready already anyway. All I need to do is put some shoes on and get a cab. I was going to head to the gym but I'd much rather see you.” 

 

“You're such a sap, Oliver Queen.” She teased. 

 

Oliver always used to drive his own car over and if ever they went out, they'd take his car then too. But sometime over the last year, cars and other vehicles had become a huge trigger for Felicity’s anxiety. You couldn't always just stop a car or a bus or a train in the middle of a busy city with traffic everywhere if you needed to get out because you felt sick, so it was easier to walk. Plus, since Felicity didn't drive herself, she _could_ drive but she hadn't been able to get behind the wheel in years and so had sold her own car months ago, if ever she was anxious in a car, that meant asking the _driver_ to pull over or turn around and even though it was always someone she knew, maybe Oliver or Sara or her mom, they always asked questions and she then had to explain why she wanted to stop and the situation just got so much more anxiety provoking after that. If there was an option she could take where she never had to inconvenience others, she would take it. Which ultimately made walking her preferred mode of transport. Walking was safer and easier because you could just turn around and go home in a heartbeat if you needed to and you could stop at any moment. Oliver had grown used to taking cabs to her place nowadays because there was nowhere to park his car and he didn't see the point parking blocks away if they weren't even going to use it to drive anywhere. It was easier just to call a cab. To begin with, Felicity had always offered to pay for the fare; it wasn't a long journey to her place but she felt guilty that Oliver was always having to pay, just because she wasn't capable of getting in a car herself. But of course, Oliver wouldn't let her pay, he never let her pay, and even on occasions where she’d managed to slip a twenty in his coat pocket whilst he was in the bathroom or something, he’d always found a way to get it back to her, either buying her dinner or buying her books or something. She always got mad when he did that, he made her feel like a charity case. So she’d stopped offering. She’d rather just not offer than him buy her gifts all the time. 

 

Oliver could be so exasperating sometimes. 

 

“It's you. I can't help it.” He laughed. 

 

“Hey. This is still _‘not now’_ territory, okay?” She wasn't really serious, she was still teasing, she didn't know why. 

 

“Me being a sap around you isn't new, Felicity. You must know that. Which makes it territory that was yesterday and the day before and for 20 years before that.” 

 

“Okay. I'm changing the subject now. 15 minutes, okay? Perfect. That gives me less time to talk myself out of this.” She laughed, humorlessly, suddenly very aware of the size of the task she’d committed to. 

 

Oliver seemed to tell she was nervous. 

 

“Hey, you're gonna be fine. We'll do things however you want. If you need to turn around and go home at any point, we can do that, I won't argue. Even though I don't think we’ll have to do that, I want you to know that it's okay if you need to.” 

 

He was so great. Too great, sometimes. She always wondered if it would help her more if he yelled at her and told her how stupid it was that she couldn't even walk across the street without panicking. It was always so strange to hear those things inside her own head everyday but never from anyone else. It made her wonder if she was crazy. 

 

“Right. Okay. Thank you. I'll see you in 15 minutes then, yeah?” 

 

“See you then. Don't be late!” Oliver teased.

 

She laughed. Both he and she knew she'd never been late for anything in her life. It was something that had always baffled Oliver, he'd told her so. She could be crying and panicking for days about leaving her apartment but still always made it to wherever she needed to be on time. Usually early. Usually over an hour early. She couldn't stand being late and she hated the thought of people having to wait for her. And although that fear of being late stemmed from a place of self deprecation and not feeling like she was even worth people's time in the first place, Felicity was always glad that punctuality was one of the qualities she possessed. In fact, it was one of the only qualities she liked about herself. 

 

Hanging up the phone after exchanging goodbyes, the silence that followed really started to make Felicity panic. 

 

It had been weeks since she’d left her apartment. And the only reason she left it the last time was to go downstairs and collect a parcel that the mailman left in her mailbox downstairs. She hadn't even had to leave the building then. It had been just her in her own little world for so long, besides the visit from Oliver yesterday, that she really wasn't sure she’d remember how to even act around other people. She was going to have to talk to people, she was going to have to come into contact with other people, she was going to have to touch things other people had touched, and there wasn't really any way of avoiding any of it. 

 

She had to do this. There was no way around it. She needed her meds and she was the only one who could go and get them. 

 

Accepting that there wasn't anything she could do was almost peaceful. It always was, in fact. There always came a sort of peace once she’d eliminated all the what ifs and maybes. It just so happened that all too often in life, there were far too many what ifs and maybes to eliminate them all. Whilst ever she had options, she had anxieties too. Ironically, when she felt like there wasn't any other way out, she felt almost peaceful. 

 

That didn't mean she wasn't completely freaking out still. 

 

She'd managed to put on her coat and shoes on autopilot. Her scarf and gloves followed. Luckily it was winter and she needed gloves; wearing gloves always helped when it came to leaving the apartment because they acted as a barrier between herself and anything she had to touch and if she wore a scarf too, she could partially cover her mouth with it to stop herself breathing anything in that would make her sick. She wore them all the time, no matter the season, but she always felt better in the winter when nobody looked twice at her. It was a lot harder to remain anonymous in the heart of the summer when she stood sweating in line at Starbucks with a scarf and gloves on. People always looked at her like she was a freak then. In the winter she could blend in. She liked it best that way. So even though winter was the worst time of the year because _everyone_ got sick in the winter and there were bugs and viruses _everywhere_ just waiting to infect her in the winter, at least she could take her necessary precautions to protect herself without looking like a total weirdo. 

 

She grabbed her purse and emptied the contents on the countertop, checking twice that she had everything: over the counter meds for every small ailment or illness imaginable from colds to headaches to indigestion, tissues, hair bands and several plastic bags just in case she needed to puke, a snack in case her blood sugars dropped and made her dizzy, two bottles of water in case she got dehydrated, money in case she needed to buy anything should any of her supplies run out, three bottles of expensive antibacterial gel, the kind that protected against any and all kind of virus, in particular the noro-virus (that was the one she was most afraid of), her phone charger in case her phone died and she got stuck somewhere and needed to make a call, her phone and her keys. That was everything. She knew she had everything. Of course, she’d like to include her anxiety meds in that list, she _never_ went anywhere without them, both her beta-blockers for the physical symptoms and the little yellow Valium capsules for the emotional and mental side of things, and she'd have liked to have been able to take her usual probiotics this morning like she always did, always keeping a spare one inside her purse too just in case, but that couldn't be helped right now. 

 

She’d be able to add them to her list soon, she reminded herself. It was going to be okay. 

 

She put everything back into her bag one at a time, checking and double checking that they were all actually in her bag once she’d put them in there, putting a mental green tick next to each item once she was satisfied they were definitely back in her purse. 

 

That was it. There was nothing else to do now except leave her apartment. 

 

She took off her gloves and squirted some antibacterial gel into her hands before she even thought about touching the door, just to be safe. The pain that seared through her as it got inside the cut and damaged skin made her see spots in front of her eyes. She gritted her teeth and tensed her palms until it passed. It took around a minute for it to pass, but it passed eventually. Okay, so maybe overcompensating with cleaning her hands to make up for her lack of meds wasn't going to work. Even if she _could_ handle the pain, which she could, _just_ , there was no way she could hide her reaction from Oliver. But maybe he’d understand that she needed to clean her hands. Maybe he’d let her do it. Maybe she’d have to just clean them when he wasn't looking, distract him with something else. It would be okay. She’d figure it out. 

 

She was just looking for reasons not to leave now, she knew she was. And possibly not being able to wash her hands was just one of those excuses.

 

No, she was leaving. She was leaving right now. She could do this. She was having a Better Day today, she reminded herself. She left the apartment on Better Days. She didn't cry over not being able to wash her hands on Better Days. 

 

Taking a deep breath, she reached up and unlocked the door. It was okay. She could do this. 

 

Stepping out into the hallway, she quickly closed and locked her door, and then resisted the urge to hold her breath. There was no point. She couldn't hold her breath all morning whilst she was outside so holding it now for 20 seconds just because was a waste of time. Ignoring the nausea already starting to creep its way into the pit of her stomach, _it was just anxiety it was just anxiety it was just anxiety_ , she headed for the stairs, already counting down the seconds to being back inside the safety of her apartment again. 

 

She took to counting things to keep her mind occupied and her thoughts away from all the possible diseases and infections she might currently be exposing herself to. She started off counting her steps. It was 39 to the stairs, and then 124 steps down to the ground floor, and then another 23 to the main doors of the building. 

 

Once she was out in the street it was actually easier to focus on something other than her thoughts. 

 

She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be outside. And even though she pulled her scarf tighter around her mouth and nose just to be cautious, being out in the fresh air felt good. Really good. Her lungs were itching to gulp the air in, the crisp December air that she’d always loved so much, but she wasn't ready to go that far yet. Maybe once she’d been able to take her meds, she’d be able to really enjoy the fresh air. 

 

There were so many things she could count and focus on out here. The different coloured cars, the people, _so many people_ , the street signs, conversations, endless different conversations happening all at once, the colour of the sky, the height of the buildings, the different kinds of trees that were planted so neatly along the sidewalk on both sides of the road. She could put all her attention on any single one of those things as she waited for Oliver by her apartment building; she was 5 minutes early, of course. 

 

She glanced up at the windows of her building, finding hers, just to reassure herself it was still there. It was. Of course it was. It would be right there waiting for her as soon as she got back. 

 

She turned back to the street quickly; looking up at her apartment was making her want to run back inside and she didn't have time for that. She wasn't going back there now, not until she’d done what she needed to do, even if she’d had all the time in the world to do it. Now she was outside, she wasn't just going to give up. The hard part was over. She’d made it out of her apartment. It was always easier once she finally made it out of the door. 

 

Scanning over the crowd of people just ahead, it was always so busy this time of year with Christmas being just around the corner and the stores downtown only a short walk away from the street Felicity lived on, she finally spotted Oliver, or the top of his head anyway, coming towards her. She could see he was wearing the deep purple beanie she’d bought him for his birthday this year. This wasn't new, he wore it everywhere, but it made her smile more than usual to see him in it today. 

 

“Am I late?” He asked as he approached her, looking at his watch. 

 

“Of course not. I'm just early. You know me.” Felicity laughed, suddenly feeling nervous. 

 

“I do.” Oliver smiled, knowingly. “Are you ready to go?”

 

“Not really. But I never will be. So let's just go. The sooner we go, the sooner I can be back again. Or the sooner I can just relax a little knowing I've had my meds anyway.” 

 

“You sure you want to do this?” 

 

“Nope. Not at all. But I have to. And not just because I need my meds. Because I need to get out of my apartment before I go fucking crazy.” 

 

Oliver smiled at her. His eyes were always so warm. 

 

“Well, let's go then.” 

 

It was time. It was time to move away from her building and start walking. It would all still be there when she got back. She could do this. 

 

“Are you okay?” Oliver asked. 

 

She looked at him confused for a fraction of a second and then realised she still hadn't started walking yet. She gave him a nervous smile. 

 

“You know how I sometimes forget how to open the door? Well, sometimes I forget how to walk too.” 

 

“Do you want to just sit down for awhile?” 

 

“Nope. It's okay. I have to do this. Maybe I'll just make it to that tree over there, and then after that tree, I'll make it to the corner and just go from there. Okay?” 

 

He gave her another warm smile. 

 

“It's amazing that you're even out here right now. How long has it been?” 

 

“I don't know… a few weeks? Maybe 5 or 6 weeks?” She replied, forcing her feet to start moving as they talked. “I mean, I came out of my apartment two weeks ago to college the mail but I didn't actually leave the building so I don't think that counts.” 

 

As long as they talked, she could focus on that. She could focus on them talking and on just getting to that tree and then to the corner and then to the crossing and then to the gates outside the park and then through the park, first to the bridge near the duck pond, then to the cafe, then to the wooded area near the park gates on the other side, and then across the street and then she was there. 10 minutes, tops, and she was there. 

 

“That long?” Oliver asked, his voice sounding sad. 

 

She hated that she was the reason his voice sounded like that. 

 

“Yeah, I guess. It's been a rough few weeks.” She laughed, humorlessly. “But yesterday was the worst and it can only get better, right?” 

 

She wasn't sure she believed that but it seemed like the right thing to say. 

 

Oliver nodded. 

 

She was at the tree. She fought the urge to look back. She didn't need to look back, she wasn't going that way. 

 

She felt sick. 

 

“How has work been?” She asked Oliver, quickly changing the subject, desperate for him to talk again so she could just focus on his voice instead of her head screaming at her to run back. 

 

“Work has been… work. You know? Tons of people got fired last month and apparently tons more will be laid off after Christmas. So I'm worried one of those people might be me, of course.” 

 

“Why would it be you? You're one of the most valuable people in the company!”

 

Oliver was head of HR at Palmer Tech. He’d worked there ever since he graduated college. He’d been the one who got Felicity a job there too, putting in a good word to the company about her skills in IT. It was why she always felt especially guilty when she thought about how she’d just quit her job there. 

 

Oliver had been so happy when they'd been able to work at the same place. They'd taken their lunches together as often as possible and carpooled there and back together and it had just been nice to know someone there, even if they worked on different floors. Having him show her around on their first lunch break after grabbing a quick bite to eat definitely helped her settle in easier. He introduced her to all of his friends too and so if ever they couldn't get lunch together, it was likely there would be someone in the company cafeteria that Felicity knew so she wouldn't have to sit alone. 

 

If she really thought about it, she did miss working at PT. It wasn't particularly hard work, it was the kind of stuff she could do in her sleep, removing viruses from the boss’s computers when they clicked on spam links in their email inboxes or repairing and installing software whenever the company upgraded, but it paid relatively well and more than anything, it made Felicity feel like she had something to actually offer the world.

 

When she’d gone to hand in her resignation, they'd even offered her a promotion, but of course she’d turned it down. Being in the office was just too much. She worked 10-12 hour days and then barely slept at night and being there was really just the start of the deterioration of her mental health. 

 

But besides that, she really did miss it sometimes. She missed the feeling that came with being able to wake up with the rest of the world and catch the subway surrounded by other overworked and under-rested people, she missed the connection that came from having something in common with everyone else on the 6:39am train. She missed having something to wake up for. 

 

“That's what everyone keeps saying, but you just never know. They fired the head of PR, you know? Just because you're top of the department, doesn't mean you're automatically safe.” Oliver shrugged, seeming nonchalant, but Felicity knew how much he loved his job. 

 

“With your resume, I don't think you'd struggle to find somewhere else even if the worst happened though. So just… don't worry, okay?” 

 

“I can't promise that.” Oliver laughed. “But maybe I’ll just come and work for you if I lose my job.” 

 

Felicity snorted. 

 

“I barely work myself, Oliver. And besides, not to discredit your intelligence or anything, but what do you know about computers?” 

 

Oliver chuckled. 

 

“How to turn them on?” He grinned. 

 

“I rest my case.” 

 

They were at the crossing now. She hadn't even noticed them reaching the corner that was now behind them. She knew if she looked back now, she probably wouldn't be able to see her building anymore. A lump formed in her throat but she swallowed it down. She was fine. She was okay. 

 

“You know if ever you wanted to go back to PT, they’d let you, right? Even if the company is struggling, I'm 100% sure they'd welcome you back with open arms. No one is as competent with that job as you were. They've had 3 different people try and fill your position since you left but none of them have stayed. None of them were as good as you were.” 

 

Oliver had told her this before. She wasn't sure if she believed him or not. Maybe he was just saying it to make her feel better. It didn't matter either way. She would never be able to go back there. Just thinking about it made her feel sick. 

 

“Yeah, I know.” She replied. “But I won't ever be able to go back there. Not anymore. Too much has changed. The person I was then isn't the person I am anymore, you know?” 

 

“I don't know. You're still the same person to me.” 

 

“Are you kidding? Do you even _remember_ what I used to look like when I worked there? People probably wouldn't even recognise me now. The Felicity from Palmer Tech was actually kind of hot. I'd be embarrassed to walk in there now looking like this.” 

 

She cringed just at the thought of her old colleagues seeing her now. They knew the Felicity who could run 6 miles and lift heavier than half the men in her department and who always wore designer shoes and never the same outfit twice. She’d rather them think of her like that. She dreaded to think about what she’d say or do if she ever bumped into any of them now for any reason.

 

They were at the park gates. It was a shortcut to reach downtown if you went through the park. And although the park wasn't the prettiest at this time of year, Felicity loved to see the kids wrapped up in coats, playing in the playground or feeding the ducks. It always made her miss being a child. Or rather, it made her miss a childhood she’d never really had. One that could have included trips to the park with her mom, holding onto her hand and chattering away excitedly after the promise of an ice-cream if she was good. 

 

“You really don't see yourself clearly at all, Felicity.” Oliver said, his voice thoughtful. 

 

“Yeah, well, I see myself everyday. So I beg to differ.” 

 

The way he spoke about her just then was all too in line with that conversation she wasn't ready for yet.

 

Suddenly she had the urge to go to the park cafe to buy duck food so she could feed the ducks too. She’d only done it a handful of times as a kid, her mom had never been the outdoorsy type and would always rather go shopping instead so she’d never taken her, but Felicity had come here a few times by herself once she was old enough to, and had really enjoyed herself. 

 

“Hey, do you want to feed the ducks when we go through the park?” She asked Oliver, feeling almost excited for the first time in probably years. 

 

“Is there time? I know you wanted to be at the pharmacy by 12.” Oliver replied, smiling at her but seeming weary. 

 

“Of course! It's what? 11:25? We can quickly get some duck food and feed them and then still be at the pharmacy by 11:45. I’m sure of it. It just feels kind of good to be outside now I'm actually out here.” She smiled. 

 

“Whatever you want. As long as you're sure you'll have time to get to the pharmacy.” 

 

“I'm sure!” 

 

Felicity was so giddy and excited now. She hadn't felt like this in so long. Amidst her excitement, she grabbed Oliver’s hand. She didn't even realise she’d done it until she looked up at him and found him looking back with a strange expression on his face. 

 

Instantly she pulled her hand back, embarrassed. 

 

“I'm sorry, I don't know why I just did that.” She blushed, looking down, curling her fingers up and digging them hard into her palms. 

 

Even with her gloves on, her nails made the damaged skin hurt. _Good_. 

 

“Hey, no. It's okay. It's fine.” 

 

“No, I'm sorry. I just wasn't thinking. I got t-” 

 

“Felicity. It's _fine_. I'm not mad at you. I was just confused that that meant something different to me than it did to you, that's all. And I guess that the expression you just saw on my face was me trying to figure that out.” 

 

“What did you want it to mean?” She asked, feeling goosebumps on her skin again, like yesterday. 

 

“You said you weren't ready for this conversation.” 

 

Oliver really was throwing her for a loop these last few days. She just couldn't understand where all of this was coming from. And part of her just didn't want to hear any of it because she couldn't possibly let herself believe it might be true. She had no idea what that meant for her, or for them. She couldn't ever let herself think about the possibility of them being something _more_ , because… well, because she just couldn't. This was _Oliver_. Her best friend. 

 

“Yeah. You're right. I'm not.” She said, quickly, trying to smile and shrug it off. 

 

The expression that crossed Oliver’s face then wasn't confusion. It was hurt. Just for a second or two, but it was there all the same. 

 

“You won't ever be, will you?” He asked, his voice sounding so small and so cautious. 

 

“I don't know, Oliver. I have no idea. I don't understand why this is happening all of a sudden.” She admitted, her voice just as small. 

 

“All of a sudden? What makes you think any of this is sudden?” 

 

She watched him fold his arms over his chest and she wished silently that she’d just never let go of his hand. She had no idea what to feel anymore. Apart from terrified. Of everything. 

 

“I'm sorry.” 

 

“You don't have to apologise. I just wish I could make you understand. I wish you'd let me help you understand.” 

 

She _really_ was not ready for this. 

 

“Let's just go to the pharmacy, okay? I actually really need my meds now.” 

 

Oliver didn't respond, he just nodded, keeping his arms crossed. 

 

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes, across the bridge over the duck pond, by the park cafe and the playground, through the small wooded area and then out of the park gates on the other side. 

 

Felicity was really starting to panic now. 

 

It was one thing to be outside where there was plenty of fresh air between each person and herself, but going inside a public building where people generally went when they were sick, was starting to feel like an impossible task. Much like the giant wall of germs and bacteria she always imagined outside her apartment door, the one inside the pharmacy was probably 100 times worse. People were always so selfish. They got sick and instead of staying home, they carried on with their lives, not caring who they infected along the way. Instead of waiting until the worst was over, they'd rush to the pharmacy to pick up pills that only masked symptoms rather than clearing them, leaving a train of germs and infection wherever they went. She wondered how many people must have been in the pharmacy just today. 200? 500? 1000? More than that? How often were the counters cleaned? The door handles? The pens people used to sign for their prescription meds? Probably once a day. She couldn't wrap her head around public places only being cleaned once a day. She cleaned her apartment more than that and she was the only person in there. What if someone had been in the pharmacy this morning and had actually got really sick? Or what if they'd puked in there just half an hour ago? How many times a day did people actually throw up in pharmacies on their way to buy meds for upset stomachs that were actually the noro-virus? Could catching that virus kill you? How many people actually died from it? 

 

Going into the pharmacy was going to kill her. Her brain had jumped quickly to that conclusion. There was no way she was going to be able to make it in there. 

 

But she needed her meds. _She needed them_. She had to go in there. She would probably die just as quickly without her meds. She was out here completely unprotected. 

 

Realistically, she knew the meds she so wholly believed in only helped keep her stomach healthy, they couldn't actually prevent her from getting sick, not really. But she’d long since stopped thinking about that. Her probiotics had become the sole piece of medication she actually felt she needed to survive. 

 

And her anti-anxieties… well, they just helped with life in general. They were her safety net to fall back on when all else failed. When she’d washed her hands until they bled and taken 10 showers and cleaned every inch of her apartment and her stomach still clenched and her heart still raced, that's when she turned to them. 

 

So she really did need to get inside the pharmacy. And without even looking at her watch, she knew she was fast running out of time to do so. 

 

“Felicity?” 

 

She looked up. Oliver was standing a few paces ahead of her, looking worried. 

 

She realised she must have stopped walking. 

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

“I'm just… freaking out a little bit. A lot. About going in there.” 

 

“We still have half an hour. If you want to just sit down somewhere for a bit?” 

 

“If I sit down somewhere, I won't get back up again. I don't have time to just be sitting down waiting until I'm ready. I need to just go but I… can't.” 

 

She reached into her purse for her hand gel without thinking twice about it. It was her safety blanket whenever she couldn't take her meds for any reason. 

 

Oliver watched her take off her gloves without saying anything but his face fell when he saw her hands. 

 

“You can’t honestly be thinking about washing your hands right now. I know that stuff stings in a papercut and your hands look awful, Felicity.” 

 

“It's fine, I used it earlier and they were fine. I'll be fine.” She lied. 

 

“But you've been wearing your gloves? What do you even need to wash your hands for?” His voice was calm, but Felicity could tell he was absolutely exasperated with her. 

 

She knew how he felt. She was sick and tired of herself too.

 

“I know but I just… I _need_ to wash them. I'll feel better if I do. I can't go in there without doing this.” 

 

Felicity popped off the cap on the bottle with her thumb and was about to squirt some into her hand but Oliver snatched it from her before she could get anything out. 

 

“I'm not letting you do that.” He said, his voice firm. 

 

“You're not _letting_ me do that? Are you kidding? I don't remember asking for your permission!” 

 

She reached forwards and tried to snatch it back but he’d lifted it away from her where she couldn't reach without touching him. She didn't think he’d done that part on purpose, knowing that she wouldn't touch him willingly, but she was fast losing all sense of reason. She needed to wash her hands. _Now_. 

 

“Give it back, Oliver. Please just give it back!” 

 

She tried to reach for it again but he held it out of her reach. 

 

She wasn't particularly fond of grabbing it back now he’d touched it anyway, he wasn't even wearing gloves, but she was so angry she couldn't even think straight. He was treating her like a child and it made her skin crawl. 

 

“Give it back, Oliver. _Now_.”

 

She’d meant to sound threatening but her voice was more of a whimper than a command. She sounded pathetic. She was pathetic. 

 

“I'm not letting you hurt yourself again.” 

 

“What do you mean by _‘again’_? I just want to wash my fucking hands!” She didn't even care that she was starting to yell now. 

 

She knew she shouldn't be cursing at him when there were children nearby but she couldn't help it. 

 

“Well, you can't. You don't need to. You'll only hurt your hands if you rub this stuff into them. You've clearly not been looking after them like I told you to. You're not even wearing bandaids!” 

 

“Oh, I’m sorry? I didn't know you were a fucking doctor!” 

 

“I had to be! You wouldn't let me take you to a hospital!” 

 

She couldn't tell if Oliver was angry too, or whether he was just sad. She wanted him to be angry. She wished so much that he’d just be angry with her. 

 

“I'm sorry that I'm such a fucking inconvenience, but I never asked you to stay with me!” 

 

“You called me, Felicity. _You_ called _me_. Or don't you remember that?” 

 

“Yeah, I remember. And I fully fucking regret it now. If I'd known you were going to act like this then I really wouldn't have bothered calling you at all. Maybe I would have just bled out on the floor there and we wouldn't even be having this fucking conversation right now!”

 

That hurt him. She saw the moment it hurt him. The exact second. She hadn't meant to hurt him. She just wanted him to be mad at her. She spent so much time being angry with herself and she just wanted someone else to be mad at her too. 

 

She knew she should apologise. She knew she was being dramatic. She knew she should tell him she didn't mean it. Because she didn't, not really. She was just mad. She felt patronised and embarrassed that she couldn't take care of herself and nothing made her angrier than people thinking she needed anyone but herself. 

 

Oliver didn't speak for a long time. They just stood there across the street from the pharmacy facing each other, not saying a word. She wanted to say something, she wanted to say so much, but she didn't. Of course she didn't. She never did.

 

She didn't know whether it was from pure anger or just from the fact that she was running out of time, but suddenly she was storming away from Oliver and crossing the street, not really stopping to look where she was going even when a car horn blared and its brakes squealed against the concrete. She ignored it, ignored the driver when they rolled down the window to yell profanities at her. She ignored the stares from people in the street, looking at her like she might just be insane. She just might be. 

 

She entered the pharmacy. It was uncomfortably warm inside and her glasses steamed up immediately. She still hadn’t put her gloves back on and her scarf wasn't over her mouth but she was too angry to care about any of those things. She didn't even know who she was angry at anymore. 

 

Thankfully there wasn't a long queue and she stood in line behind an old woman. She’d be in and out of there in the next couple of minutes, then she could go home. 

 

She didn't realise she was shaking visibly until she caught a glance of herself in the security camera reflection above her head. Had she been any closer, she’d have been able to see the tears running down her cheeks too that she didn't know were there. 

 

She didn't know if Oliver had followed her. She didn't know whether she wanted him to have or not. She didn't know anything anymore and she was having real difficulty staying present enough just to stay standing. It wasn't anger coursing through her veins anymore, it was panic, pure panic that was making her shake and cry, and she didn't know what to do. 

 

She was at the front of the queue now. 

 

She wiped her eyes furiously with the back of her hand and tried to remember how to breathe. 

 

“Can I help you?” The cashier asked, her pristine white uniform almost blinding. 

 

Okay, so it probably wasn't actually blinding but Felicity’s senses were definitely over sensitive right now. She needed to get home. 

 

“I h- I have a p-prescription to pick up. For Felicity Smoak.” She managed to stutter, willing her eyes to _just stop fucking crying_ for 1 minute, as she handed over the piece of green paper that listed everything she needed, signed and stamped by her doctor. 

 

She could feel her heart roaring in her chest, hear her ears ringing. 

 

The cashier looked at her strangely. 

 

“Are you okay, miss?” She asked. 

 

Felicity nodded, fiercely. 

 

“I'm _fine_. I just- I just need my meds, that's all. I r-ran out. I haven't been able to t-take them today. So if you don't m-mind…” She gestured vaguely with her hands, urging the girl to hurry. 

 

The girl frowned at her but thankfully moved from the register to the shelf behind her, starting to collect Felicity’s prescription together. 

 

Felicity tapped her nails loudly on the counter, her foot already making a noise on the floor as she jiggled it around with anxiety. She didn't even think about the fact that she was touching the counter. She was too lost in her head, in her panic to notice. She was scratching her arm with her other hand, the one that wasn't tapping on the counter, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until the skin was raw and starting to bleed. She couldn't stop. She had to be doing _something_ otherwise she'd lose it. And she couldn't lose it. Not here. Not now. The scratching was a habit from… from way back, from when things were better but also worse at the same time. It had started with just her fingernails and then progressed to other things. She hardly ever did it anymore. She didn't have the presence of mind to wonder why she was doing it now. 

 

She started to count, subconsciously, whispering just loud enough for herself to hear. She counted the times her nails went back and forth against her skin. 

 

One, two, three, four, five six, seven, eight… 

 

Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-thr-

 

“Here you go, miss. This is your last prescription. I can't issue another without a new note from your doctor.” 

 

Felicity knew the girl was handing over her meds, but she couldn't remember how to take them from her. The hand that had been tapping on the counter stopped, and she forced herself to move it, to lift it up, to take the bag from the girl, to leave two $20s on the counter. She didn't wait for her change. She knew she should say thank you, say _something_ but she couldn't. She needed to get out of there. 

 

She turned and walked as quickly as she could without running, towards the door. 

 

Once she was outside, she thought she’d be able to breathe a little easier but she soon found that she couldn't, it felt just as stifling outside as it had inside. She scrambled for her water bottle, dropping her purse on the ground once she found it so she had her hands free to tear open the bag with her meds in. She didn't even care that she was standing in the middle of the street. She had to take her meds. _Now_. 

 

Ignoring the sticker on the front which said “take ONE daily” in huge, bold letters, Felicity swallowed three of the probiotics in one go, with a gulp of water, followed by two of both of her anti-anxieties. 

 

She was still too panicked to think about the the pills having been in her unwashed hands, hands that had just seconds ago touched an unwashed counter and an unwashed door. She’d remember those things later though. When she was home and finally thought she was safe, she’d remember how stupid she’d been. How careless she’d been. She always remembered later. 

 

Even swallowing her meds really wasn't helping her current breathing situation. She was so warm, even out here in the cold December air, and she could feel hot sweat already trickling down her back. Her palms were slippery too and she struggled to keep the water bottle in her grasp. She knew she was crying, she could feel her eyes burning and her cheeks were wet. 

 

Suddenly she just felt so far from home. 

 

The amount of space between here and there made her gasp, choking on the air she was somehow still managing to get into her lungs. She couldn't hear anything besides the ringing in her ears and the sound of people talking, people shouting, so many people, whispering right into her ears. She’d never felt so trapped before, even though this was the most free from confinement she’d been in weeks. The air was suffocating out here. It was too much, there was too much of it. She wanted to scream. 

 

“Felicity?” 

 

It was Oliver. Of course it was Oliver. It was always Oliver. 

 

She heard him asking her if she was okay, but she knew that he knew she wasn't. She was standing in the middle of the street with her purse thrown on the floor, crying and gasping for air. She clearly and very obviously was not okay. 

 

She looked at him, or at least she thought she looked at him, and shook her head, her eyes wide and desperate. 

 

“I need to be home.” Was all she managed to say. 

 

She watched him bend down and pick up her purse, slipping it over his shoulder. She felt him take her hand. She couldn't remember how to pull it back even if she'd wanted to. 

 

He didn't say anything, just kept hold of her hand and wrapped his other around her lower back, before gently pulling her with him as he started to walk. Her legs felt like jello and for the first time in her life, she was so glad she had someone to lean on; the pavement was so gross and she really didn't want to fall on it. She had just enough presence of mind to not fall on him completely, but he definitely took most of her weight as she leaned against him, somehow still managing to will her legs to keep moving. There was never any doubt in her mind that he would let her fall. He never would. He never had. Why had it taken her so long to see that?

 

She heard herself whispering an apology, over and over against his shoulder where her head had fallen. He didn't respond, except for just a quick and quiet “shsssh” sound in her ear every now and then. She didn't know what she was sorry for, for everything she wanted to say, but she couldn't stop saying it. She needed him to understand even if she didn't understand herself. She was sorry for so many things. _So many things_. 

 

They were back at the bridge with the ducks again, where just 15 minutes ago everything had been perfect and then she’d ruined it all. 

 

She sobbed loudly. 

 

Oliver shushed her again, rubbing circles into her hand where he held it. The action only made her want to cry harder. He deserved so much better than her. 

 

She closed her eyes and just let him guide her. She was no use to him even with her eyes open anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave me a comment! I find it super difficult to continue writing without encouragement from others and so every single comment means the absolute world to me!
> 
> Feel free to leave any prompts or questions for me on Tumblr! My ask is right [HERE](http://wetsuiton.tumblr.com/ask) and I'm on there everyday :)


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly SO overwhelmed with the response this fic is getting. Honestly, I can't even put into words how much each comment or tweet or message on Tumblr means to me. To have heard I've even helped one person in someway just by putting this story out there just means the whole world. So thank you so much to every single person who has left me a comment or even just a kudos. I just really hope you enjoy the last few chapters of this and continue to let me know your thoughts! I can't believe it's halfway through already! Remember, I post Mondays and Thursdays but there will be an extra chapter on Saturday next week, Christmas Eve, and that will be the final chapter. 
> 
> Again and as always, thank you to @candykizzes24 for the cover artwork and to @phangirlingforphan for being my amazing beta.

 

Somehow, they made it back to Felicity’s apartment. It took longer than usual since Felicity’s legs kept forgetting how to walk and they had to stop several times just so she could do nothing but breathe for a little while since breathing had been secondary to making her legs walk for most of the journey, but they made it back. Finally they made it back. 

 

After helping her up the stairs, Oliver grabbed her keys from inside her purse and unlocked the door to her apartment. 

 

Felicity felt woozy, and she wasn't sure whether it was just the panic wearing off or whether it was all the meds she’d taken in one go on an empty stomach. She didn't want to spend too much time considering the latter right now. It was too ironic to think about how the very thing that made her feel relatively safe might be the reason she got sick one day. The more she kept misusing her meds, the more likely that was to happen. But she tried not to think about it too much. She _tried_ not to think too much about a lot of things. 

 

Now the panic was wearing off and she was able to think more clearly, she was definitely starting to feel more than a little embarrassed. 

 

She sat down on the couch, and expected Oliver to follow her but he didn't. He just stayed standing by the door, his hands pushed into his pockets now they weren't holding her up. 

 

“Do you want to stay for a coffee or dinner or something?” She asked, tentatively, not really knowing whether she wanted him to say yes, or no. 

 

“I think I'm just going to go home. Now you seem better. You do feel better, right?” His voice was different, weird. 

 

It wasn't soft and warm like usual. It was just… blank. Empty. 

 

“Yeah. I just needed to get home I think.” 

 

“Good. Well I'm glad you feel better.” 

 

Hurt. That's what his voice sounded. 

 

Suddenly a flashback to their argument lit up in Felicity’s brain. What she’d said to him just before she’d stormed off. 

 

“Oliver… I’m so sorry.” She said, softly, passionately though, trying to put everything she felt into four little words. 

 

He shrugged. 

 

“Yeah, you said that already. And I know you are.” 

 

“I didn't mean what I said, I really didn't, I was just so angry at you for-” 

 

“You were angry at _me_? Are you sure?” 

 

She didn't know what to say. 

 

Oliver shrugged again.

 

“You know where I am if you need me. That won't change. But I can't be here right now. Call me when you're ready to talk.” He said, before turning and leaving, closing the door so softly behind him. 

 

 _About everything. About us._

 

The words hung in the air, unsaid. 

 

She listened to Oliver’s footsteps as they got further and further away and tried to ignore the anxiety that built low in her stomach the fainter the sounds became. She also tried to ignore what that building anxiety meant. She wasn't ready to think about that. Not just yet. Soon. But not yet. 

 

There was so much she had to think about. Oliver had left her with so much to think about. She didn't know where to begin. She didn't know if she wanted to find out. Just like before, back in the pharmacy, she just didn't know anything anymore. This whole thing was just… She couldn't describe it. And for someone who both thought a lot, like _a lot_ , this almost silence in her brain right now was really starting to make her uneasy. 

 

She had to do something. And that something had to start with getting herself and her apartment clean. Maybe, as long as she was always preoccupied with _something_ , she could maybe start to think about a few things that really needed thinking about. 

 

She felt surprisingly calm right now. Which was a miracle given how she’d felt just 20 minutes or so ago. That had definitely been one of the worst panic attacks in her life. She hadn't had one so publicly since she was a teenager. She’d been so good at keeping everything inside until she was alone since she was a teenager. She couldn't understand what it was about today, no, about the last two days and maybe a handful of days in the last few years, that had all of a sudden made her feel like she could panic externally, rather than just keeping it inside. Or maybe she could, she just wasn't ready to admit it to herself yet. 

 

She couldn't even count the number of times she’d sat in a room full of people, a war raging inside her mind, a war full of thoughts about dying or puking or not being able to escape or embarrassing herself or letting people down, her heart racing, her ears ringing, her hands and feet numb with pins and needles, sweat running down her back, but her face blank and expressionless, just enough so that no one would ever be able to tell what was going on inside. 

 

The number of times she’d let even the tiniest bit of that panic out however, she could count on one hand, and she wouldn't even need all of her fingers. 

 

Felicity stood up, interrupting her own impromptu internal monologue, and went over to the kitchen to wash her hands. Being at the sink again forced her to think about that time again, just yesterday when she’d been here with Oliver. 

 

She'd never let herself be held before, she’d long since stopped wanting to be held, she’d long since stopped thinking that anyone would ever actually _want_ to just hold her close to them. But with Oliver, it had been different. Of course she’d wanted to pull away, she’d obsessed about germs and everything else she always obsessed over, but deep down, none of that had really mattered. Because she knew there was no way she would have ever been able to pull away from him. No matter how much she wanted to, she just couldn't. And she could put that down to how tightly he was holding her all she liked, but that wasn't really the case. He would never have held onto her if she hadn't wanted him to. Ever. Oliver wasn't like that. He knew how she worked and what triggered her and if he’d truly believed she wanted him to let go, he would have, in a heartbeat. He never would have held her too tightly because he knew she feared small spaces and being unable to escape. Thinking back, maybe he never had been holding her all that tightly after all. Maybe it had been just enough. 

 

Maybe she’d just liked the feeling of being in his arms too much, and the only way she could pretend otherwise, was to convince herself that she had no choice but to be there. 

 

But that wasn't true, she knew that now. And so she allowed herself to think about what that meant. To really think about what that meant. 

 

She’d admitted to herself a long time ago that there was something about Oliver that made her feel safe. She tried to ignore those feelings whenever they cropped up, but she knew they were there. 

 

It scared her to think that there was someone out there who could make her feel something, let alone something so concrete as safe, which really wasn’t something she felt a lot, or at all. And the thing about feeling things for other people and allowing those feelings to have an impact on her life, was that those people could leave. At any point they could just get up and leave, or they could let her walk away, and then she’d be left with all these feelings, all these feelings that were just there that she would never know what to do with again. 

 

She moved on to dry her hands as a memory floated into her mind. 

 

It was mid-July, the height of summer, and she was 6 years old. In just a few months, after her 7th birthday, she would see her father for the last time. She hadn't known that at the time, of course. She’d had no reason to know that. She was just a little girl who looked up to her dad like he put the stars in the sky. She would never admit that, even then she was quiet and more withdrawn than any of the kids from school her age, but it didn't mean that the feelings weren't there. Felicity loved her father just like any other child. She just didn't know how to show it, that was all. 

 

It was one of those sickly hot days where the pavements burned the soles of your feet and the only place you could comfortably sit was directly underneath the air conditioner. But Felicity hadn't cared. She’d been outside all morning, reading her book, sitting underneath the apple tree that had been growing at the bottom of the yard for as long as she could remember. 

 

Her dad had come home early from work that day which was unusual in itself, around lunchtime, and he’d brought out a sandwich for her lunch, made one for himself too, and joined her out in the yard. It was rare that they ever hung out together, and as a 6 year old with slightly more awareness than an average person of the same age, Felicity was overly delighted to be spending time with him for once. She never told him that either, of course, and looking back now, she really wished she had. Maybe he might have said it back. Maybe it would have been enough for him to stop her from leaving, to come and find her one day. Who knows. 

 

“What are you reading?” He'd asked her, taking a bite out of his sandwich. 

 

“Harry Potter! I finished the first one earlier, it only took me 3 days and I've started reading the second one now. We’re reading them in Book Club over the summer.” She smiled, proud of how quickly she’d read the first one. 

 

All her friends from the club were reading the series too but as far as she knew, she was the first one to finish any of them yet. She couldn't wait to go back to school in September to talk about the books. She aimed to have read them all by then. 

 

Her dad chuckled. 

 

“Are you enjoying them?” 

 

“I _loooove_ them! Hermione is my favourite! She’s just like me! I didn't think there was anyone in the world who liked doing homework and reading books like I do, but Hermione does! She’s so cool.” 

 

She was so excited; talking about books was one of her favourite things in the world and talking about them to her dad just gave her the best feeling. She knew how much her dad enjoyed reading too and she loved that they shared that passion. When they weren't talking about computers, they could always talk about books. 

 

“Is there anything you don't like?” 

 

Felicity thought for a minute. 

 

“I guess I don't like that the parents sent all those children away to school. I mean, Hogwarts is awesome and everything and I'd _really_ love to go, but I wouldn't want to be so far away from you and mom. I just don't know why the parents would be okay with sending their kids away? Wouldn't they miss them so much?” 

 

“That depends if they were bad kids or good kids.” Felicity's dad laughed. 

 

Felicity didn't laugh.

 

“Would you miss me if I went away?” She asked, quietly. 

 

She didn't usually ask questions, she usually kept things to herself and just worried herself over them, but this one had felt particularly important to ask.

 

Her dad smiled warmly and leaned over to ruffle her hair. 

 

“I wouldn't let you go away.” He replied.

 

“But what if something happened and I had to? What if I was really bad and got taken away like those kids you see on TV? Would you miss me then?” 

 

“Everyday, kid. Everyday.” 

 

“Do you promise?”

 

“I promise.” 

 

Another memory. 

 

The day before her college graduation. 

 

A text from her mom just as she was supposed to be boarding a plane to come over for the ceremony. 

 

_I've had to take a shift tomorrow at work. There's no one else to cover and I really need the money. So I'm not going to be able to make it tomorrow. I'm sorry, honey. I hope you have an amazing day._

 

Felicity had been with her friends whilst she read it, Sara and Oliver were staying for the whole weekend so they could go to her graduation, and she hadn't wanted to cry in front of them. But she had only just managed to hold it together. 

 

One little text, not even a phone call… was that all she was worth? Is that really all she deserved from her own mother who would rather work than see her own daughter graduate from college? Her ticket was already paid for, Felicity had paid for it herself, she’d even booked her a night in a hotel too. Her stomach had sank. Maybe she’d been planning on cancelling the entire time. Maybe she’d never had any intention of flying over to see her graduate. Those had been her initial thoughts. That was just how her brain worked. But as the afternoon wore on, Felicity had started to feel bad for thinking those things. 

 

Her mother had a life back home. She couldn't just be expected to give it all up and fly across the country for one night. That would be selfish to ask for. It was just graduation. It was just a piece of paper. Her mom’s job was so much more important. So much more important than her. Of course she’d never actually had any intention of flying over and staying the night. Of course one little text was all she was worth. It was stupid of her to expect more from anyone. She should just be grateful that her two best friends were there, instead of always wanting more. 

 

Looking back now as she started taking out cleaning products from her cupboard under the sink, those memories were suddenly so significant. 

 

They were just just memories in a sea of many, but they'd always meant something to her. Those memories, those people, still left her with so many _feelings_ every single day that she just didn't know what to do with, since neither of them were in her life much anymore, or at all when it came to her dad. And those feelings were the exact thing she was so absolutely terrified of to this day. 

 

When she’d finally realised that her dad wasn't coming to look for her, didn't care about her, didn't miss her, would never call her, she’d thought back to that day. It had been her first thought directly after _“why doesn't he love me?”_ , the things he’d promised, the things he’d lied about. She didn't understand as a 7 year old just how much of an impact that would have on her one day. She could deny missing him and wishing he’d call all she liked, but the day he’d decided to not even try to stay in touch with her, was the day she stopped believing she was worth staying for. It hadn't been the only factor that made her self worth completely crumble, but it had definitely been the trigger. And then every single seemingly insignificant let down or rejection since then had just added fuel to the fire and reaffirmed to her that she wasn't worth anything, that there was something wrong with her, that people just didn't want to be around her. 

 

Then her mom had cancelled on her graduation. And that was the final straw in her becoming so completely and utterly convinced that she wasn't worthy of anyone’s time or attention. It seemed so sudden, thinking about it now, but it hadn't been. It had been a slow burn of emotions spanning out over 15 years. From being 7 years old alone every night after school to being 22 years old looking out over the graduation crowd and seeing neither of her parents smiling back at her. And by 22, she was so completely lost in her self loathing and shattered self esteem that there really wasn't a single shred of hope in her mind that she’d ever be normal again. 

 

She couldn't blame everything on her parents, and she never would, they were her parents and she loved them, but a large part of her personality was shaped by their absence in her life. Of course, there were other factors, other things that made opening up so difficult, that didn't really have anything to do with her parents. 

 

Her anxiety disorder had always stemmed from the amount of pressure she put on herself, all the time. First it was with school work, then with extra-curriculars like book club or the science fair, then it was working out and running, then it was work, and by then she was starting to burn out completely. And once the burn out started, there hadn't been anything she could do stop it. 

 

She'd always been top of her class, she'd always made straight A's and got 100% in every single test or pop quiz. She could do those things without even trying, she knew she could. But that didn't stop her piling on the pressure, taking on more and more projects, doing extra assignments, buying textbooks made for the next grade and spending hours with her head buried in them, never stopping until she’d figured out that equation or completed that worksheet. 

 

Her first panic attack had happened because she’d had to spend just 5 hours studying one night instead of her usual 7 because she'd had a migraine that was making her feel nauseous and lightheaded and all of sudden she hadn't been able to see the page she was reading due to black spots dancing in front of her eyes. She’d had a test the next day and even though she was clearly sick and really shouldn't have gone to school, she'd done so anyway, because she’d _needed_ to take the test, she’d _needed_ to get another A, she’d _needed_ to get another shiny, green 100% sticker on top when she collected it the day after. 

 

She'd never really thought about why she cared so much about being perfect in school. She was naturally smart and everyone knew that, whether she made straight A’s or not there was no denying that she was incredibly intelligent. But she wondered now whether it was always just an attempt to fill some of the emptiness she always felt inside her. The harder she studied and the more A’s she got, the less she thought about everything, or everyone, that was missing in her life. And maybe deep down, her grades were something that she always imagined her parents could be proud of her for, and that maybe one day if she worked hard enough, they'd tell her just that. Both of them. By some miracle, if she just kept working and achieving, her dad would come back and tell her he loved her and her mom would pull her into her arms and tell her she was proud of her. 

 

As she’d gotten older, studying hard and getting good grades had become something she did for herself without anyone’s help, because she could, because she wanted to try and prove to herself that for once in her life she was worth something, but still, deep down it served its purpose in filling her up enough with _something_ that she didn't feel the nothingness that was always there somewhere. 

 

The panic attacks were probably always the sign she should have been looking out for that things just weren't working, that her methods of coping were unproductive and would come back to haunt her one day, but she chose to ignore them, to believe they were a situational hazard, something that came with high intelligence and an obsessive need to be the best, and that once she graduated everything would go back to normal, or at least her version of normal. But they'd actually gotten worse the older she got and by the time she started college, they were happening almost every single day. Looking back, it was a miracle she even made it through high school, let alone college. But then again, there was nothing in the whole world back then that could have stopped Felicity from pushing herself and trying to achieve, not even regular panic attacks, bouts of insomnia and non-existent self esteem. 

 

She wondered to herself if maybe she hadn't been so neurotic during her education, she might actually be able to hold down an actual job nowadays. The thought made her roll her eyes. 

 

All of these things were a part of the cocktail that lead to Felicity being afraid of everything, especially afraid of people and of letting them in, letting them help her, letting them mean something to her. She had been this way for as long as she could remember. There had never been a time in her life since she was a child where she hadn't been this way. Everything she’d felt as a child was simply just heightened now she was an adult and obsessing over school and grades had somewhere turned into obsessing over germs and cleanliness, and never asking about things that worried her had somewhere turned into never asking about anything because she believed she just wasn't worth the time it took to think of an answer. 

 

And yet… despite everything, Oliver had stayed. 

 

He’d been there during every single fucked up stage in Felicity's life and still, none of it had ever made him leave. All those things she’d believed her whole life about how people always thought she wasn't worth sticking around for, Oliver had always been the exception to that rule. Truthfully, he’d never given her any reason to believe that everyone would eventually leave her, because he never had, not once, even when all she’d wanted was for him to see her how she saw herself, as something so worthless and broken. Was the possibility that he might like her as something more than a friend really so unbelievable, considering everything he’d been there for in her life, everything he’d chosen her over, everything she’d thrown at him that he’d chosen to overlook to stay by her side? 

 

But also… isn't that just what friends do? She’d have done the same for him. She _had_ done the same for him. Of course, his life wasn't in the complete mess that hers was, but he’d been through his fair share of disappointment and temporary madness just like everyone in the world. Losing his dad had sent Oliver a little crazy and there’d never been a single moment where she’d considered leaving him. He’d stopped eating, locked himself in his room for days on end, drank bottles of whiskey instead of bottles of water and refused to talk to anyone for the first couple of weeks. And as much as Felicity despised herself, more than she could ever explain, even she knew that only a truly awful person would leave someone like that, when they needed someone the most but just didn't know how to ask for help, and she could never have done that to Oliver. 

 

The thing her brain kept coming back to was how sudden this felt. Even though Oliver had told her that it hadn't been sudden, she didn't believe him. He’d known her since she was 5 years old and she’d never once had any reason to believe he loved her as anything more than a friend. Okay, so she had always had difficulty imagining _anyone_ wanting to be with her, the idea had always been so ridiculous to her, and she had no experience with relationships, no idea how people flirted or any of that stuff, but even in her cluelessness, surely she should have been able to notice _something_? And even if he did love her as more, did she feel the same way? _Could_ she feel the same way? If she did feel the same way about Oliver deep down, what did that mean for the solitude she’d become so comfortable with, the ideals and morals and rituals she’d become so accustomed to over the years? 

 

She’d never had to share her space with anyone. She’d never had to do anything for anyone if she didn't want to, she’d never had anyone in her life that she had to talk to, that she had to open up to, that she had to let into her personal bubble. She'd always been on her own. She didn't know how to _not_ be on her own. Even if she took out all her obsessions with germs and cleanliness, she still couldn't picture herself being with someone, sleeping next to them, sharing all the small and mundane moments of everyday life with them, and all the other stuff that came with relationships too, the going on dates, the romantic vacations, touching and kissing and sexual stuff. All of that terrified her. Being in a relationship came with so many expectations and she didn't know how to meet any of them. She’d never had the opportunity to even try. Did she feel like Oliver was the person who she’d finally be able to try with? She didn't know. She had no idea. 

 

Deep down she’d always known that it had meant _something_ that Oliver was the only person who had ever been able to make her feel safe, the only person she’d ever trusted enough to even slightly open up to, the only person she believed understood her even the tiniest bit. Oliver had never felt insane like she did, but even that didn't make her think that he didn't understand her. Oliver understood her, there was no doubt about it. He didn't understand _why_ she was the way she was, but he understood how she worked and no one had ever been able to do that. But Oliver had, pretty much from the start, even before her mental health had deteriorated. 

 

 _She_ had never been able to understand why he cared so much or why he always chose to stick around, and she didn't think she ever would. There was just so much _wrong_ with her that she couldn't wrap her head around anyone actually wanting to be in her life at all. And that was another one of those relationship things that just terrified her. If she allowed herself to think that someone might want to be around her, might want to spend their life with her, would that make her need them? Would admitting that she needed someone really be the worst thing in the world? She’d never needed anybody, ever. She didn't know _how_ to need someone. She was just so used to being the only person she could rely on wholly and she really didn't know if she could ever get used to relying on someone else. 

 

Everything aside, her worries and fears and questions aside, how did _she_ feel about Oliver? Ignoring everything she’d thought about so far, everything she was afraid of, everything she didn't think she could do, everything she couldn't imagine herself saying, in her heart underneath all of that, what did she feel for him? Did she, had she, or could she ever see him as more than her best friend? 

 

He made her feel safe, she knew that, she’d thought about that already. What else? He made her feel like she wasn't worthless, like she could actually maybe still achieve things and go places and be someone again one day. She absolutely _hated_ that he made her feel that way, because she was only used to self loathing and anything more than that felt like admitting to herself that she wanted to make something of her life. Wanting to make something of her life was something she’d put firmly on the backburner several years ago when it had started to become a task to even leave her apartment. Plus, having someone believe in her always left her with the opportunity to disappoint them and there wasn't much she feared more than that. But regardless, that was how Oliver made her feel. 

 

She also couldn't deny the goosebumps on her skin when she’d felt him so close to her yesterday, when she’d felt him stroke her hair and her cheek and the warm feeling she’d been unable to ignore when he made her laugh; no one could make her laugh these days. And then just being in his arms, feeling that underlying peace underneath all the anxiety… it all had to mean _something_ , didn't it? 

 

She’d finished cleaning the kitchen. She’d expected herself to be compulsive and hysterical about it considering the state she’d been in just a while ago, being in the pharmacy surrounded by germs that had no doubt made their way onto her clothes, but she wasn’t. Having something to think about, something important, had really helped to keep her mind from going too crazy. She’d still been meticulous, she was always meticulous when it came to cleaning, but she hadn't had the space in her mind to worry too much about having probably exposed herself to something. It made her uneasy to feel so calm, calm wasn't something she felt very often, but rather than forcing herself to think about how careless she became when she was calm, instead she just embraced the calm for probably the first time in her life, or at least for the first time in a really long time. 

 

She knew Oliver had said to call him when she was ready to talk, but she also knew that he needed space right now, maybe a few days of space, and even though she thought that felt ready to talk to him already, mainly she just worried that if she didn't say something now then she never would, she didn't want to rush into it. She was terrified that she'd got the wrong idea about the whole thing and she needed maybe a few days herself to really think and come to terms with what it was exactly that Oliver was asking her to think about. She didn't think she could survive the humiliation and rejection if she _had_ been wrong about everything. 

 

But whilst she was feeling relatively normal, it actually was turning out to be a Better Day after all despite everything, Felicity decided to give her other best friend a call. She needed to talk to someone who knew Oliver almost as well as she did, and there was only one person on earth who did; Sara Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave me a comment! I find it super difficult to continue writing without encouragement from others and so every single comment means the absolute world to me!
> 
> Feel free to leave any prompts or questions for me on Tumblr! My ask is right [HERE](http://wetsuiton.tumblr.com/ask) and I'm on there everyday :)


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was probably my favourite chapter to write and we finally get to meet my third "main character" even though this is well over 30,000 words already... sorry about that. In fact, the last three chapters are the chapters I'm most proud of and had the most fun writing so I really hope you enjoy this! Please let me know what you think! And thank you again for all the support with this story so far; it really means the world to me! <3
> 
> Thanks as always to @candykizzes24 for the cover artwork and to @phangirlingforphan for the beta work.

 

She’d planned to just speak to Sara on the phone but after 5 minutes of talking to her, Felicity had realised just how much she missed her and had invited her over instead. Sara had sounded so excited, not at all wary or cautious like Oliver had been when she’d invited him over, but that was just Sara, always too full of life and energy to worry about anything. 

 

They planned for Sara to come over around 6, which gave Felicity just enough time to finish cleaning her apartment, get some laundry done, have something to eat and take a nap; those pain killers were definitely making her sleepy, she'd taken more naps in the last day than she ever had in her life. She hadn't even meant to take a nap today, she’d been watching TV one minute and then the next thing she knew it was 5:45 and she was waking up with couch creases in her cheek. Waking up had made her panic because she only had 15 minutes before Sara was supposed to arrive and her nap had left her feeling disoriented and unable to think clearly about anything. She’d been planning on getting changed and doing her makeup and really making an effort to look normal since she hadn't seen Sara in almost two months and she’d changed so much in that time, but now there wasn't time to do anything except quickly change her shirt since the one she was wearing was now creased from her nap. 

 

Luckily for Felicity, Sara was usually always late, so she knew she had maybe another 10 minutes to spare after 6 o clock. Those 10 minutes were spent worrying. Of course. It wouldn't be Felicity otherwise. 

 

Felicity worried what Sara would think of her now. Realistically she knew it had only been two months and people couldn't _really_ change all that much in such a short space of time but she also knew that she'd changed enough for someone to notice, especially Sara who’d known her nearly all her life. She’d lost weight, probably more than she realised, and that was the thing she worried about the most. She hated her body now and she hated being so skinny and she worried that Sara might think she’d been losing weight deliberately or something, which wasn't the case, but she knew she wouldn't be able to explain why she was about 20lbs lighter than the last time she saw her even if she wanted to. She’d never been able to talk about that stuff with Sara, at least not in the same way she could with Oliver. Sara was the friend who cheered her up and made her forget about everything, rather than the one who made her talk and think about things. But Sara also wasn't one to just overlook something if she thought Felicity was being stupid or hurting herself and whilst it made her uncomfortable to have Sara be so blunt and candid when she asked questions, Felicity was always secretly glad to have someone who didn't take her bullshit and usually always called her out on it. That was just Sara, she was like that with everyone, she always had been. 

 

She also worried about how to bring up Oliver. She really did want to ask Sara if Oliver had ever talked to her about anything, if he’d ever mentioned how he felt about her, but she didn't know how to approach the subject. If she’d gotten everything all wrong she was scared that Sara would just laugh at her or make a joke out of the situation, when the situation wasn't something Felicity really wanted to joke about at all. She knew Sara would never make a joke intentionally if she knew it would hurt her, but Felicity was never very good at telling people when she was hurt, so Sara would never be able to tell just how embarrassed and humiliated she felt if she made light of the whole thing. And then of course, if by some miracle, she really wasn't getting the wrong idea about Oliver and he’d said something to Sara about her too, what should she say? How should she react? She still didn't know if she wanted anything between them to change so what would she say if Sara asked? Would Sara be mad at her for even thinking about wanting things to change? They'd been best friends for so long, the three of them, and she worried that Sara might just find the whole thing weird and gross. 

 

Maybe she shouldn't bring it up at all. Maybe she should-

 

She didn't have time to finish her thought, a thought about just calling Sara and cancelling, as the door buzzed from downstairs. Felicity went into the kitchen to check on the camera that it was Sara before letting her up. Her stomach was in knots; why was she so nervous? She hoped she’d be able to actually open the door this time. She knew Sara would never be able to understand if she couldn’t. Then again, she probably didn't need to worry about opening the door. She’d already been outside today, she reminded herself, and if she was going to get sick, it would have been because of that and the germs would already be inside; there was no point refusing to open the door if whatever could make her sick was already inside. 

 

Shaking her head fiercely, Felicity forced herself to just stop thinking for a few seconds and focused on counting to herself again. The counting was actually proving to be a pretty good coping technique. She made a mental note to tell her therapist about it during their next appointment. She also made a mental note to actually book a next appointment with her therapist sometime next week. 

 

Sara knocked on the door and Felicity opened it before she could even think about not being able to. Sara greeted her with a huge smile as soon as she opened the door. 

 

“Hey! How _are_ you?!” She smiled as Felicity let her inside, her voice full of excitement. 

 

Felicity smiled back. She already felt warm inside just being around Sara’s presence. Her energy was so infectious. They should bottle it and sell it, Felicity thought to herself. 

 

“I'm good, I think. I've had a weird few months but today has been good.” 

 

“Perfect! Well, I brought Mean Girls and both of the Sex and the City movies with me, and popcorn, it's still sealed just in case you didn't want us to eat in here or whatever, it’s the kind that doesn't pop until you cook it, and I was going to bring wine but then I remembered you don't drink and I'm still slightly hungover from Friday night, _don't ask_ , so I just bought pink lemonade instead and I figured we could drink it from wine glasses like we used to do as kids.” She laughed, opening her bag, taking everything out and placing it all on the coffee table in front of the TV. 

 

Usually this was the point where Felicity would freak out. Usually she’d need to clean it all, the packets and bottles and cases, just because she didn't know where they'd been or what they'd been exposed to on the way here. But not today. Today she only felt mildly nervous. She quickly pushed aside all the thoughts of cleaning and contamination and forced herself back into the moment. Today was a Better Day. 

 

“You didn't have to bring all of this!” 

 

She hated when people spent money on her and she hated it even more when they surprised her with it. She always worried that she’d give them the wrong reaction. She wasn't big on sharing any emotion, even if it was a happy one. She was a pretty neutral person, neutral emotions were the only ones she was comfortable sharing, so she always worried that people would think she was ungrateful or didn't care that they’d gone to so much effort for her. 

 

Sara didn't seem to mind though. 

 

“I literally haven't seen you in months so there was no way I was coming over here without making an occasion out of it! And plus, you just sounded so good and just _so you_ on the phone and I figured that if there was anytime for us to have a proper girly night, then it was tonight whilst you were feeling normal.” She smiled, sitting down on the couch. “But on the subject of normal, can I just say that I hate that word and we should never use it again. Because it implies that there's something wrong with you any other time and there really is not. Okay?” 

 

Felicity laughed. She loved Sara so much. 

 

“I mean, I beg to differ about there being nothing wrong with me but sure, the word normal is now and forever removed from my vocabulary. Or at least whilst I remember that I'm not supposed to use it, anyway.” 

 

“Perfect!” Sara laughed too, and then reached over to grab the three DVDs she’d brought with her. “Okay, so which movie first?” 

 

“You choose. I don't care. I'll go make the popcorn.” 

 

“Are you sure? We don't have to have it. I know you don't usually like to eat with someone else but I just thought it would-”

 

“Hey, I'm sure. The popcorn is fine. It's all sealed in a bag anyway. I don't need to panic about it having grown mould or gotten poisoned or something on the way over. It will be fine.” 

 

Sara smiled, thoughtfully, her eyes shining warmly. Just like Oliver, Sara too didn't seem to mind Felicity's dark humour when it came to her struggles. She was less comfortable with it than Oliver was, but she always appreciated a joke here and there, even if she never made the jokes herself. 

 

“Perfect. I have so much to tell you and it will definitely sound better over popcorn. Do you want to grab some glasses too?” 

 

“Sure. I'll just give a couple a quick wash and bring them over.” 

 

Picking up the two bags of microwave popcorn Sara had brought, Felicity headed over to the kitchen to cook it. Checking the use-by date just twice before feeling satisfied that it was okay to eat, Felicity put the bag into the microwave. Once it was in the microwave, she grabbed two wine glasses and a large bowl from the cupboard and filled the sink with scalding hot water. Washing them took a few minutes and she definitely scrubbed them more than she needed to, reapplying strong soap to her cleaning sponge several times just in case, not just for her sake but for Sara’s too; she hated the thought that her friend might get sick from her having not washed her glasses properly. She finished just as the microwave pinged to say the popcorn was done. She considered briefly pouring the popcorn into two bowls or just keeping hers inside the bag, but then decided against it, reminding herself that she was having a Better Day, and then poured it all into the same bowl once she’d dried it thoroughly. She picked up the bowl and the two glasses and carried them back over to the coffee table. 

 

Sara was sitting on the couch waiting for her, flicking through the channels on TV. She looked so at home, so relaxed, even though this wasn't her own space and Felicity envied her. She couldn't relax anywhere, let alone in other people's houses. She always sat awkwardly, always on edge, never feeling welcome, always feeling nauseous, her head constantly telling her that she wasn't safe and needed to leave. She wished so often that she could just hang out at a friend’s place and really enjoy her time there instead of feeling uncomfortable and out of place, constantly fidgeting and counting down the seconds to when she could leave, narrowing down excuses in her head and then ultimately deciding on one and leaving much earlier than planned. Seeing Sara so at ease at her place made her ache inside. She wanted to be able to do that so much. Even after all the times Felicity had told her to stop doing something or even kicked her out of her place, she still looked so at home there. She didn't know how Sara did it. She’d give anything to be more like her best friend. 

 

“Mmmm, oh my _god_ that popcorn smells so _gooood_.” Sara said, looking up as she heard Felicity approaching. 

 

Felicity tried to smile before Sara caught her looking upset, but didn't quite manage it. 

 

“Are you alright? Did I do something wrong?” She asked, looking concerned. 

 

Felicity shook her head, hating herself inside for being the reason Sara automatically thought she’d done something wrong. She supposed years of random outbursts of anger and unexplained crying fits around her had made her start to think that there was something wrong with her, that the slightest change in Felicity’s mood was because of something she’d done. Felicity vowed to herself right then and there that she was going to start treating her friends better. She was going to stop being such a sensitive and bitter person and she was going to start trying to be the friend they deserved. If Sara and Oliver wouldn't let her push them away, and she’d almost certainly established by now that they wouldn't, then she really had to start being better. For them. For herself. For the sake of whatever sanity she had left. 

 

“It's not you, it’s just... things. Up here.” She replied, gesturing to her head. 

 

“Anything you want to talk about?” Sara asked, giving Felicity a small smile. 

 

Felicity handed over the glasses to her and took a seat next to her on the couch. 

 

“Later.” She smiled back. “Right now I'm ready to get so wasted on that lemonade.” 

 

Sara laughed and grabbed the bottle from the table, filling up their glasses to the top. Handing one to Felicity, she tapped her own against it in a toast. 

 

“To finally having a girl’s night.” She grinned, her mouth smiling in jest but her eyes warm and full of affection. 

 

Felicity tapped her glass against Sara’s. 

 

“I missed you, Sara Lance. I’m sorry for being M.I.A lately.” 

 

“Consider it forgotten. I forgive you. I suppose I have to considering we’re basically sisters now right?” She grinned. 

 

Felicity rolled her eyes. “Do you think that will ever not be slightly weird?” 

 

Sara laughed. “Probably not. But it's also super cute. We used to pretend to be sisters all the time when we were kids and now we are! Plus, I haven't seen my dad so happy in a really long time. I think he’d completely given up before he met your mom. He was drinking all the time and stuff. But he’s like a different person now. And your mom is amazing. He can't really believe his luck.” 

 

Felicity smiled. 

 

“They deserve to be happy.” 

 

“They do. But seriously though, back to what I was saying... I forgive you only if you promise we won't ever leave it this long to hang out again.” She was smiling, but Felicity knew she meant it. 

 

“Absolutely.” Felicity promised. 

 

She meant it too. 

 

“And now let's just drink this good stuff whilst we watch four beautiful, middle-aged women in bad relationships, before having the longest and best chat about everything we haven't been telling each other lately, okay?” 

 

Felicity smiled. 

 

“That sounds absolutely perfect.” 

*

About halfway through the movie it hit Felicity just how normal- wait, she wasn't supposed to use that word - how _fine_ she was feeling. It had been an hour now and she’d been able to focus almost completely on the movie, only one or two stray thoughts about catching something from sharing the popcorn or how long it had been since she last washed her hands. Her hands, which by the way, were actually starting to feel a lot better. She’d taken Oliver’s advice finally and had actually put a few bandaids over the worst of the cuts earlier, covering them with antiseptic cream first, and that combined with the last painkiller she took and having not used any anti-bac on her hands at all since the last time this morning, was really starting to help.

 

Felicity couldn't remember the last time she’d felt fine. Fine was something she always forgot she could actually feel. She never wanted to be cured, she knew that was impossible, she just wanted to feel fine sometimes. Fine was her goal. And right now, she was achieving it. She smiled to herself. 

 

They'd sat mostly quiet watching the movie except for a few comments here and there about one of the girl’s outfits or how much of a dick Big was for changing his mind about marrying Carrie when Carrie was just like, the nicest and most beautiful person _ever_. Sara always liked to compare herself to Samantha, and Felicity to Miranda, and it always made them laugh even though they'd been making the comparisons since they were teenagers. They'd grown up watching the show, usually at sleepovers at Sara’s place after her family went to bed and they could creep downstairs to watch the recordings that Sara’s mom had saved, giggling at all the sex scenes and gazing in awe at how big and beautiful New York City was. 

 

Sara had kept forcing more popcorn on Felicity the entire time, telling her she was too skinny and needed to eat more and for once, Felicity had been happy to oblige. The popcorn was delicious and she couldn't remember the last time she’d treated herself or the last time she’d felt well enough to eat more than a few mouthfuls of something; the lingering nausea that came with her anxiety always made eating so difficult, especially eating sweet things. 

 

By the time the movie ended they were both high on pink lemonade and too much popcorn and it was the most content feeling Felicity had experienced in a really long time. 

 

She got up to take the empty popcorn bowl into the kitchen whilst Sara put on another movie. Usually she would wash it straight away, but Sara kept her so distracted by chattering about her favourite parts of the movie that she forgot all about it and simply left on the counter by the sink. 10 minutes into Mean Girls was when Felicity realised she hadn't washed it and almost instantly after that realisation, she realised she didn't care. It would be fine. It would all be fine. 

 

Sara didn't stay quiet long this time around, and Felicity guessed she'd been wanting them to talk properly for awhile now. About 15 minutes in she turned the volume down, filled up another two glasses with lemonade, handed one to Felicity and said,

 

“Okay. Let's talk. I have so much to tell you.” 

 

Felicity smiled, raising her eyebrow. 

 

“Does a certain woman from Friday night have anything to do with everything you have to tell me?” 

 

Sara blushed. She _actually_ blushed. Felicity thought she’d never see the day where Sara Lance got bashful, but here it was. 

 

“Did Oliver tell you?” She asked, a smile creeping onto her face. 

 

“He told me you just ditched him and left him on his own because you were so smitten with this girl.” 

 

“I was so not smitten! And who even uses that word anymore?” 

 

“Sara, are you _blushing?_ ” 

 

She blushed harder and Felicity laughed. 

 

“Okay, okay, so maybe I was _slightly_ smitten.” She giggled. “But you should have _seen_ her, Felicity! She was just beautiful. And did Oliver tell you about how she threw her drink at that guy? Honestly, as soon as that happened I was just like ‘AH! A woman of my own heart!’ and I just _had_ to talk to her. She kind of gave me the cold shoulder all night and accused me of just trying to get her drunk and honestly I had no idea if she was straight or gay or anything, I mean, obviously I hoped she wasn't straight but more than that, I just wanted to be near her because she was just _awesome_ and right when I was about to give up and leave her alone she just turns to me and tells me to tell my friend that I’m leaving with her right now. I wasn't expecting it, obviously, and I was so shocked that I kind of just stood there thinking it was a dream and she ended up telling Oliver herself that I was leaving with her and-” Sara stopped suddenly, looking embarrassed. “Tell me to stop at any point, _please_.” 

 

Felicity laughed and then smiled at her friend.

 

“No, don't stop. I haven't seen you this happy in ages and I'm really enjoying seeing you blush. It’s making me feel better about _my_ inherent blush that I can't hide from.” 

 

Sara giggled, and then took a long drink from her glass.

 

“I only had chance to shoot Oliver an apologetic glance before she was taking my hand and pulling us both into a cab. And I won't go into details but I had the best sex of my life that night… several times.” 

 

“Okay, you said no details. That counted as a detail.” Felicity said, pretending to cover her ears. 

 

Laughing, Sara took another drink and smiled. “I really like her, you know? And not just because of the sex, which is usually why I like someone. I've never really come away from sleeping with someone and hoped they'd call me again. In between the sex we just talked and watched some dumb movie that I can't even remember the name of and then I stayed over and we spent all day on Saturday together, went out for pancakes to nurse our hangovers and stuff, and it was just nice. It was weird too because the whole time I kept wondering if it was a date or just the way she always treated people after sleeping with them but then when I was about to leave she asked me for my number and kissed me on the cheek so softly and I honestly haven't been able to stop smiling since. Is there something wrong with me?” 

 

Felicity smiled back. “There's absolutely nothing wrong with you. I mean, not that I have _any_ experience whatsoever but this sounds like the start of something special for you.” 

 

Deep down Felicity was starting to feel bad again. Seeing Sara so happy and so easily talking about what made her happy, so unafraid of what Felicity might think, so blissfully content to just say how she felt without any shame was making that familiar pit of jealousy and worthlessness swirl up in Felicity’s stomach. 

 

She would never be able to talk about anyone like that. She never had been able to talk about anything without over thinking every single word before she said it and constantly watching for the other person’s reaction in case she said something wrong, always just believing they were bored and were just politely engaging in conversation when really, they just wanted her to shut up. She’d never been able to speak for so long without interrupting herself or being interrupted, she didn't know what it felt like to just have someone’s undivided attention, to just be able to say exactly how she felt without worrying about anything. She felt like an idiot whenever she talked about something as simple as her favourite TV show, felt like nobody was listening or cared, and so it felt absolutely impossible for her to ever be able to speak about someone she loved and cared about the way Sara could. Sara didn't even seem to mind that she’d only _just_ met this girl either. She still had sat and spoken about her with so much affection even though she’d only known her for around 48 hours. It was beautiful, the way she spoke, and whilst she was so happy for her friend, it only made Felicity feel even more inadequate than she usually did, as though she’d never be able to love and appreciate someone properly out of fear of it being too much, too soon, not enough, not soon enough. She would probably always be too much and not enough at the same time. She was a lost cause, completely hopeless when it came to how to feel about other people, how to talk about how she felt about other people and just about other people in general. 

 

She dug her fingers into her palms out of frustration, making them sting. Why couldn't she just be fucking _normal_? Why couldn't she just have a normal conversation with her best friend? She wanted that so much. 

 

“Are you alright?” Sara asked. 

 

“Sure, why?”

 

“You just… have a weird look on your face.” 

 

“I'm just happy for you.” Felicity smiled. 

 

“Nope, that's not what that look was. Anything you want to talk about?” 

 

“Nah. I mean, sure, yeah, there’s loads I want to talk about but I just can't talk about any of it.” 

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I just _can't_. I never can. You know me.” Felicity joked, but didn't laugh. 

 

Sara frowned and then gave her a small smile. 

 

“Is one of those things you can't talk about something to do with Oliver, by any chance?” She asked, still smiling. 

 

Felicity nodded, her heart suddenly racing. 

 

“We talked about you on Friday. Well, Oliver talks about you all the time but Friday was pretty enlightening for me.” Sara continued, pouring Felicity another drink. “You've seen him since then, right?”

 

Felicity didn't want the drink, she suddenly felt sick, probably from all the sugar mixed with the anxiety that had suddenly swamped her, but she took it anyway because she didn't want to hurt Sara’s feelings. 

 

“Yeah. Yesterday and today. He came over yesterday for a bit and then we went for a walk this morning.” 

 

“And did he say anything to you?” 

 

“I mean, he _said_ a lot of things, Sara. We talked. I don’t know what you're getting at.” 

 

Felicity swallowed a mouthful of her drink just for something to do. She was so nervous all of a sudden. Why was she so nervous? 

 

“He didn't say anything that maybe weirded you out or made you feel… different?” Sara asked, a gleam in her eye. 

 

Felicity nodded again. “Yeah. Maybe.” 

 

Sara smiled. 

 

“Look, I know you don't like talking about this stuff and I can tell you're uncomfortable but you need to know that Oliver really likes you. Like, _really_. And it might seem so sudden to you because you're just so fucking oblivious sometimes, Felicity, but I swear to god, he has liked you for so fucking long. He's just never said anything because he didn't want to make you hate him and he figured you’d figure it out on your own but since that _really_ clearly isn't happening, I told him to just be honest with you. But because you and Oliver are so alike sometimes, I knew he wouldn't be able to just tell you and I knew when you called earlier that he’d just freaked you out by being too subtle and cryptic instead of just telling you the truth and laying it out for you. Am I right?” Sara smiled triumphantly, definitely knowing she was right without needing Felicity’s confirmation. 

 

She nodded again. “He just… said some stuff. And I don't know how I feel about it. Because it’s just so… no one's ever looked at me like that before. The way Oliver does. But I honestly didn't know that it meant something.” She said, quietly, feeling her cheeks warm as she spoke. 

 

“It's always meant something. For Oliver, there’s always been something. Since you were kids, probably. You two have always just had something between you that even I couldn't understand. He’s always just _got you_ , and I've always been so jealous. I've never been able to help you the way Oliver can. And I've always wondered how he does it and then over the last few months I've realised it's because he’s literally always fucking thinking about you, worrying about you, wanting to make things better for you. And I'm not saying that I don't want that for you too, but with Oliver it's just… it's different. It's always been different. I've never been able to compete with that. You two just have this _thing_. I can't believe you've never noticed.” 

 

Felicity’s mind was buzzing, listening to Sara speak. But she kept coming back to one thing; Sara was jealous of Oliver and what he had with her? Why would Sara ever need to be jealous of anyone? She was perfect. 

 

“Sara I… why would you never need to compete with Oliver? You're both my best friends.” 

 

“I don't know, but sometimes you just look at me like you can't stand me, like you hate me, like I remind you of things you don't want to think about. And at first I figured you were like that with everyone but you're not. I've never seen you look at Oliver like that.” Sara replied, playing with a strand of her hair, suddenly looking smaller and more nervous than Felicity had ever seen her. 

 

When had she ever looked at her like she hated her? Why would Sara ever think something like that? 

 

Then she realised. 

 

Every time she thought about something Sara had that she didn't. Every time she thought about how jealous of her she was. Every time she’d wished she could be more like Sara and less like herself. 

 

She hadn't realised she’d been so readable. But Sara had gotten it wrong. She didn't hate her. She could never hate her. 

 

“Sara, that's- that’s not why I- I don't hate you! I could _never_ hate you.” 

 

“So why do you look at me like that sometimes? I'm not seeing things, Felicity. I know you.”

 

“I don't- I can't-” 

 

“Yeah, you can't talk about it. I get it.” 

 

No, she _had_ to talk about this. She couldn't just sit there and let Sara think she hated her. It was breaking her heart and hurting her chest just to think about it. 

 

“ _No_ , I can. I need to. You're wrong, you're so wrong, Sara, I can't even begin to tell you. You just- you're just-” she could feel herself wanting to cry but she forced herself to speak, ignoring the tears threatening to well up and over at any second. “I don't _hate_ you, Sara. I _envy_ you. I'm absolutely 100% _jealous_ of you sometimes. I just look at you and you're everything that I'm not. You're beautiful and confident and you smile all the time and everybody falls in love with you as soon as they meet you because you make them laugh and make them feel relaxed and you're so easy to talk to and you always know how to speak your mind and you've never once held anything back from anyone because you're just so honest and comfortable with yourself and you're the kindest person I've ever met and sometimes when I look at you, I just feel empty, because I'm none of those things. I never will be any of those things. You just know how to love, Sara, and I don't, I just fucking don't and I don't know how to get past it even though it's killing me inside. I just want to be more like you, I want to be _normal_ , I want it so bad, you have no idea how badly I want it. So I don't hate you, I really don't hate you _at all_ , I just don't know how to tell you that you're all I've ever wanted to be.” 

 

She barely had chance to catch her breath after speaking for arguably the longest time in her life before she was in Sara’s arms, crying on her shoulder, unable to control her sobs. She couldn't even remember whether Sara had pulled her into her or whether she’d just been unable to hold herself up anymore and had fallen into her but either way, she didn't care. Suddenly she was warm and safe and she knew that she could cry and it wouldn't change anything. 

 

Sara didn't say anything, she just let her cry, stroked her hair and rocked her a little. Felicity couldn't even remember why she was crying after a while but it just felt so good to be finally letting it out, letting _something_ out, that she couldn't stop. Saying all that to Sara, telling someone how she felt, how she’d felt for the longest time, had really opened something up inside her and now letting go was all she wanted to do. So she cried. She cried until she had no tears left. And Sara was there the entire time. Even after she’d eventually stopped crying, Sara still held onto her, combing her fingers through her hair, never once stopping the contact, like a reminder that Felicity was never alone, had never been alone at all.

 

“Do you know what you're going to do about Oliver?” Sara whispered after a while, still holding onto her like she had no intention of letting go. 

 

Felicity didn't mind. She was soon realising just how good it could feel to let someone else take care of her sometimes. 

 

She shook her head against Sara’s shoulder. 

 

Sara kissed the side of her head and then pulled back, smiling softly, taking hold of Felicity’s hands. If she felt the band aids and how dry and damaged and awful her skin was, she didn't say anything. 

 

“Do you want to know what I think?” She asked, softly, letting go of one of Felicity’s hands to push some hair behind her ear. 

 

Felicity just nodded again, worried that if she opened her mouth to speak, she’d start crying again. 

 

“ _I think_ you should give it a go, the two of you.” She smiled, stroking the back of Felicity’s hand with her thumb. 

 

“I was so mean to him today, he didn't even want to see me…” She admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can't stop thinking about it. I was such a bitch. And he was only trying to look out for me. He just didn't want me to hurt myself. But I was so adamant that I knew best and-” 

 

“Felicity, babe, if I know Oliver, and I do, he’s probably sitting at home now feeling annoyed at himself for overreacting.” 

 

“But he didn't overreact, Sara, I did! He has nothing to feel bad about!” 

 

Sara smiled softly again. 

 

“I'm not the one you need to be telling this to, am I?” 

 

Felicity shook her head. “I'm no good for him, Sara. He deserves better. He deserves someone like you.” 

 

“Okay, one, _ew_. I love Oliver but I could never, _ever_ date him.” Sara laughed, and Felicity did too. “And two, I know you think I'm some perfect being who doesn't worry about anything and never cares about what people think, but you're wrong. Deep down, I'm so insecure sometimes. I grew up with a sister who was better than me at absolutely everything, I grew up in her shadow, always trying to do more so that one day I could be better than her. Why do you think I always _did_ so much? All those extra-curricular activities were never for me, it was just my way of trying to get one over on Laurel. But it never worked. Laurel’s always been the smart one, the lawyer with the amazing salary, the first one to settle down with a boyfriend, the first one to move out. I spent so much of my life just trying to compete with her. But I can't, I realise that now. Because I'm not Laurel, and I don't need to be. And we’re closer now than we’ve ever been and I'm so thankful for that because comparing myself to her constantly was just fucking exhausting. And like you, you may have noticed that I'm not particularly fond of talking about how I feel either, you know?” Here she paused, smiled knowingly, stroking Felicity’s hair. “But basically, what I'm trying to say is that just like I’m not Laurel, you don't have to be me. You're fucking perfect as you are, Felicity. And one day you'll see it, I promise you. It probably won't be soon, but it will happen. Okay?” 

 

Felicity didn't even know what to say. She felt like crying again but she had no tears left. 

 

“You're incredible.” She whispered. 

 

Sara smiled, warmly. “And so are you. You just need to start believing it.” 

 

Felicity nodded, a small nod. She really wanted to believe Sara. She really wanted to try. 

 

“But this thing with Oliver… how do I even… I've never done this before. I've been the way I am for so long, I don't know if I can tell him anything. I don't know if I even have anything to say that he’d want to hear.” Felicity said, feeling her stomach churn at the thought of having to say something to Oliver. 

 

“Felicity, you just sat here and poured your heart out to me for the first time in our entire friendship. That's fucking _amazing_. And I'm just me, you know? I'm not Oliver, I'm not the one you've always had an unmistakable bond with. So I'm sure once you get going, you'll have absolutely no problem talking to him. Just do what you've done with me today and you'll be fine.” 

 

“I don't think of you any less than I think of Oliver, I swear. You're my best friend, Sara. You always have been. You were there first. Don't forget that.” 

 

Sara smiled. “Noted.” 

 

Felicity laughed. It felt so good to laugh after crying for so long. 

 

“Do you want to finish this lemonade and watch another movie?” She asked. 

 

“Sure. I don't really want to leave you on your own after that anyway. I'm not sure what it takes for you to go into self-destruct mode but after the day you've had, I wouldn't be surprised if this was it.” Sara laughed, slightly humourlessly though, her eyes caring and warm. 

 

“I think you're probably right.” Felicity agreed, leaning over to give her friend another hug.

 

She stopped, just before she could envelope her. 

 

“Wait, is it okay if I hug you?” She asked, shyly. 

 

“Always. You don't ever have to ask. I'm way too deprived of your hugs as it is.” Sara laughed, leaning over and covering the distance between them in less than a second. 

 

Felicity buried her head on Sara’s shoulder. “I really want to be better.” She whispered into her hair.

 

“And you will be. One day. I just know it.” Sara replied, squeezing her tighter. 

 

Sitting up, Felicity said, “Thank you so much. For today. For everything. For putting up with so much of my shit, even when I don't deserve it.” 

 

“I wouldn't put up with anyone else’s shit except yours.” Sara laughed. 

 

“This new girl of yours better watch her back then.” 

 

“I think I'm the one who needs to watch mine with her.” 

 

“You sound perfect for each other.” 

 

“We do. And hey, maybe we can double date when you and Oliver finally do something about your relationship!” 

 

Felicity laughed, loudly. 

 

“One day at a time, Sara.” She said, rolling her eyes, but suddenly she could picture that perfectly in her mind. 

 

She really needed to talk to Oliver. And soon, before she forgot how good it felt to finally let somebody in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave me a comment! I find it super difficult to continue writing without encouragement from others and so every single comment means the absolute world to me!
> 
> Feel free to leave any prompts or questions for me on Tumblr! My ask is right [HERE](http://wetsuiton.tumblr.com/ask) and I'm on there everyday :)


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The penultimate chapter or the last chapter, depending on whether or not you think epilogues count as proper chapters. The chapter that made me cry more than I've ever cried whilst writing something. I can't actually believe that this last three weeks of posting has gone so quickly! 
> 
> I've said it before, but thank you all SO so much for reading this story. I can't really put into words how much each comment and kudos and tweet and tumblr message means to me, I really can't. Just over a month ago I was on the brink of never writing again because I was just feeling so utterly shite about myself, but deciding to write and post this has been one of the top 3 best things about my entire year. And that's mostly just thanks to the response and love I've had from almost every single person who gave this a chance. So thank you, with my whole heart, thank you so much. 
> 
> There's one more chapter left here, an epilogue that takes place 2 months after this chapter ends, and I'll be posting that on Christmas Eve. 
> 
> As always, thank you to @candykizzes24 for the cover artwork and to @phangirlingforphan for being my amazing beta.
> 
> I hope everyone has a great Christmas, and to those who don't celebrate, just have a great December and a happy new year!

 

Sara left around 11, after watching the second Sex and the City movie and finishing all the pink lemonade. Felicity was relieved when she left, she would always prefer her own company to the company of others, but rather than it being an anxious relief, it was a contented relief, a kind of relief that came only after you'd had a really great time. It wasn't a feeling Felicity had never really experienced, at least not in the last few years. 

Now she was alone, everything in her was screaming at her to clean, to disinfect everything, to scrub her hands until they were raw, but she wouldn't. Not tonight. Tonight was _hers_. And even if she went completely crazy tomorrow, she was having this night. 

She texted Oliver, not sure if he would answer if she called. 

F: _I’m ready to talk whenever you are._

He replied minutes later. 

O: _Already?_

F: _I think so. I've thought a lot this afternoon/evening. About everything. And I know we just have so much to talk about. So I'm ready to, if you are._

She hoped he was ready to talk now. She didn't know if she’d still be able to come tomorrow. 

O: _Are you home? I could come over?_

F: _If you still need space, I’ll understand._

O: _I don't need space from you, Felicity. I never did._

F: _I'm home now, of course. Obviously. I never leave. Come over whenever you want._

O: _I'll see you in 10 minutes then?_

F: _Sure. Come straight up._

Okay. They were doing this. They were actually going to talk. And sure, she felt like she was about to puke any second, but it was just nerves, it was normal to be nervous before things like this. This wasn't anxiety, this was just normal butterflies in her stomach. She accepted them gratefully. She hadn't experienced normal emotions like this for so long. 

Looking around her apartment, she wondered if she should clean up just a little. That's what normal people did before they had friends over, right? But then if she started, she wouldn't be able to just do a little bit. The need to clean would take over her and she’d be having a panic attack before she knew it. People like her just couldn't do things a little. It was like an alcoholic saying they'd just have one small drink. One small drink turned into two, turned into three, turned into lying completely intoxicated on the bathroom floor and choking to death on their own vomit. She wasn't calling herself an addict but she was definitely addicted to something. Not just to cleaning and making sure no germs were ever on anything she owned, but to the control she felt when she was cleaning, the control she was so absolutely terrified of letting go of. 

So instead she sat on the couch and tried not to think about the smell of popcorn in the air instead of the usual smell of disinfectant that always lingered, the empty glasses on the coffee table, the empty bottle of lemonade left on the floor by the couch, the empty popcorn bowl just left in the sink, her unwashed hands, her body which hadn't been showered since she returned home earlier, the- 

Okay, so maybe she wasn't doing so good at not thinking. But thinking was okay. Not acting on those thoughts was the truly hard part. And she was doing okay so far. Sure, she’d had to sit on her hands to stop herself reaching for her antibac gel and she’d had to count out loud to stop herself from cleaning anything away, but she was doing this. She was having thoughts and they were staying just that; as thoughts. She had no doubt that everything would come crashing back down on her come tomorrow morning, but that was then. This was now. She’d cross whatever bridge she had to cross in the morning, _in_ the morning. 

But then, much like before Sara had arrived, the worrying started, the incessant and obsessive worrying. 

She worried still that she was imagining everything; she didn't always trust her own version of reality anymore since so many people were always telling her it was wrong. So what if she’d just misinterpreted everything, Oliver’s comments about her, Sara’s comments about Oliver, everything. She worried that she’d said too much to Sara, she couldn't even remember half of what she’d cried about anymore now the moment had passed and she worried that it would change everything between them. She worried that even if she hadn't misinterpreted everything, that today in the park with her might have made Oliver change his mind, might have made him realise that she was too much to handle, that she was just too much in general and then she worried about just how much that would affect her if it happened. 

She'd really started to let herself believe for the first time in her life that she was worthy of love, that she was worth something to someone, that someone could actually look at her and see something that was worth staying for. And once that belief had started, it had taken on a life of its own and now she didn't know how, or if, she’d survive if Oliver had changed his mind about her. 

She wouldn't blame him if he’d changed his mind, she would never blame him, everything would always be her fault, but she was so scared of what would happen between them. No matter which way things went, they’d crossed a line in their friendship and she didn't know if they would ever be able to come back from it again. 

She worried about what she was going to say to Oliver, how he would react, how _she_ would react, and what would happen if everything she thought he’d meant was actually true. 

Would he want to kiss her? Would she be able to let him be that close to her? What if he tried to kiss her and she freaked out and hurt his feelings? 

This was _Oliver_. The person she knew so much about she could easily write a book. The person she’d grown with, had so many of her first life experiences with. The person who knew all of her deepest hopes and fears and dreams and weaknesses. The person who knew her better than she thought she would ever know herself. 

What would happen to all of that if they became more than friends? Weren't people supposed to start relationships knowing nothing about each other? Wasn't the best part of a relationship the getting to know each other part? She’d read in so many magazines that it was. What would replace that part in their relationship since they already knew each other inside and out? 

And then her brain just insisted on coming back to how she didn't know how to do any of this. She had no experience whatsoever when it came to relationships. She had only ever had her parents to look to when it came to relationships and she couldn't think of a worse example than them. She’d never even so much as been on a date, or held hands with someone, let alone done all the other things that most of the world had done a million times by her age. She just felt so completely incompetent. She knew Oliver hadn't had too many girlfriends but she knew he’d had enough to know what he liked and didn't like about a girl, and as far as she could remember, all the girls he’d dated in the past had been so much prettier than her. Most of them had had amazing careers and their own townhouses, they all had been tall and curvy in all the right places with long hair and no acne and definitely no glasses or excessive daddy issues like her. They'd all been perfect, every single one of them had just looked so good on Oliver’s arm and picturing herself the same way just made her want to cry. She was nothing like those girls. What would she even bring to a relationship? Besides neurotic behaviour and arguments and being too distant or too clingy or both at the same time and always needing space, so much space. What was the point of being with someone if that person would always default to the part of them that had been alone for so long? Would she ever be able to open up to Oliver, to let him know how she was feeling, to be able to offer advice if he needed her help with something? Sure, maybe she had done those things in some way throughout their friendship but a relationship required so much _more_. She didn't know if she had more. 

And yet… he still liked her. If she wasn't imagining everything, despite it all, he liked _her_. It had never worked with any of those girls in the past and if Sara was telling the truth, that Oliver had liked her his whole life, then maybe that was why. She knew it wasn't her fault that Oliver had always had feelings for her, she still didn't understand that one bit and probably never would, but thinking about possibly being the reason why all of those girls ended up dumped or walked away from in the end, made her heart ache. What if they'd been in love with him? What if they'd given him everything whilst he was too busy thinking about her to notice? 

She wanted to cry. 

She wanted to go back in time and just somehow have made it so that Oliver never thought of her as more than a friend. That he never met her, even. She’d only fuck up his life eventually. 

But then at the same time, she was clinging onto the hope that they could do this, that they could work something out. She couldn't stop picturing them going on that double date with Sara and Nyssa one day. She wanted that so much. She wanted to just find out what happened when she let someone love her. She wanted to find out what it felt like to love someone back, properly, deeply. 

And, she realised suddenly, she wanted all of that with Oliver. 

A knock on the door snapped her abruptly out of her thoughts and into reality. It was time. It didn't matter how much she worried or all the ways this could go wrong, Oliver was here, now, and they were going to talk. 

Taking a deep breath, Felicity counted slowly to five inside her head and then stood up to answer the door. 

“Hey.” Oliver smiled as she opened the door. 

“Hi.” She replied, quietly, still really not sure how any of this was about to go. 

Things had never been awkward between them and she was so scared that this was going to be. Her fear of things being awkward was probably going to make things awkward. She was going to ruin everything. She might as well just tell Oliver to go home. 

She silently willed her head to just _be quiet_. 

Letting Oliver into her apartment, she closed the door behind them and locked it. She gave herself just three quick seconds to do nothing but breathe before she turned around to face him. 

“Can I smell popcorn?” He asked. 

“Sara came over earlier. We watched a movie and had popcorn. And pink lemonade. It was fun.” 

Oliver smiled, warmly. “I'm glad you guys had fun. Although, I'm surprised you were actually okay with her coming over. Especially after this morning. That's- that's awesome.” 

His voice was so soft and caring, and she couldn't help but smile. 

“Thanks. We all used to drink pink lemonade out of wine glasses as kids, remember?” 

“Of course I remember! We stole them from my mom’s glasses cabinet the first time and then got yelled at because they were supposed to be just for decoration, not for actually drinking out of.” He laughed. 

“I think that was the day I started being afraid of your mom, you know?” Felicity teased. “Sara wanted to do it again today though. Unfortunately I didn't have special glasses like your mom, I just had these.” 

She picked them up from the coffee table, hooking her fingers through the slim cylinder of glass and holding them up to show Oliver, before walking over and popping them into the dishwasher. Normally she’d hand wash them first a few times before finally washing them through using the dishwasher. But not tonight. The dishwasher was always clean enough for most people so tonight it would be clean enough for her. 

Oliver seemed to notice too, either that she wasn't washing them straight away or that she was loading them straight into the dishwasher because when she turned around, he was smiling at her thoughtfully. She shrugged in response, like it was no big deal. 

“Do you want a drink?” She asked. 

She was just stalling, they both knew it. Eventually they would _have_ to sit down and talk. 

Oliver shook his head. 

Felicity poured herself a glass of water, dropped two ice cubes in it from the freezer and then went over to the couch to sit down. Oliver stayed standing, looking like he didn't quite know what to do with himself. Felicity laughed. 

“Wow. You could really cut this tension with a knife!” She joked, trying to lighten the mood. 

It seemed to work since Oliver laughed and then came to join her on the couch. 

“We don't have to do this right away, okay? If you want to just hang out and watch TV or something, we can do that instead.” He said, not really looking like he meant what he was saying. 

“Oliver, I don't even know what _this_ is. All I have to go by are a couple of cryptic comments that you've made over the last few days that have absolutely driven me crazy. I need you to just lay it out for me so that I can decide whether or not I've made this entire thing up in my head.” 

He didn't say anything for awhile, he just stared at the muted TV, clearly trying to do anything to avoid meeting her eyes. Usually she’d be grateful but right now she was just frustrated. She guessed this was how people felt talking to her most of the time. Like trying to get water out of a stone. She had never expected Oliver to be this quiet, she was always the quiet one. 

“Oliver?” She tried again, softly, wanting to reach over and rest her hand on his knee but being too afraid to. 

She just wished he’d look at her. 

“I'm sorry for being so confusing and giving out so many mixed signals.” Oliver said, a few seconds later, quietly, not staring at the TV now but at his lap instead, still not meeting her eyes. 

Felicity's heart sank, she couldn't stop it. Mixed signals obviously meant that he’d changed his mind. Of course he had. She couldn't believe she’d ever thought any different. 

“You don't have to be sorry for changing your mind, Oliver. I know this morning was just completely pathetic on my part and I said so much stuff that I never deserved forgiveness for and-” 

“Hey, wait. What makes you think I've changed my mind?” 

“I just assumed when you said you were sorry for being confused and stuff… and like I said, I wouldn't blame you after today because-” 

“Felicity, what happened today wasn't nice, obviously. But I haven't changed my mind. I still want…” He trailed off, looking like he wasn't quite ready to say whatever he’d been about to say. 

He looked so torn, so conflicted, she’d never seen him curled so inside himself before. Oliver was always an open book and to see him so clearly unsure and nervous was making her heart ache. 

“You still want what?” She asked, needing to hear him say it. 

Oliver sighed and then finally, he met her eyes. 

“I still want to be with you. If that's what you want too. I've wanted it for so long, Felicity.” 

There it was. 

She hadn't been imagining anything. 

He really did want to be with her. 

And whilst her brain was telling her it was a joke, that he was kidding, that he was lying, deep down she knew it wasn't true. 

Someone wanted her. Oliver wanted her. 

He hadn't looked away from her at all as he’d spoken, and even now, he was still looking at her, his eyes shining with… _something_. Something that made her heart flutter in her chest. 

She didn't know if she was imagining it but suddenly the air around them felt so heavy. 

“I- I don't know what to say.” 

Oliver smiled. “Of course you don't. It wouldn't be you otherwise.” 

And just like that, some of the tension lifted. She felt like she could breathe easily again. 

She smiled back. 

“I had so much I was going to say to you though. I have so much I need to say.” 

Oliver shook his head. “You don't need to say anything right now. Just let me, okay?” 

She nodded, taking a sip of her drink. The ice cold water felt amazing sliding down her throat, she hadn't realised how dry her mouth was. Another one of those symptoms of nervousness. That normal nervousness she knew almost everyone would feel in this situation. One of those normal emotions she loved so much. 

“I know I said before that you would think all of this was so sudden, and I can tell that you do, but I need you to know that none of this is new for me. Nothing about the way you make me feel is new. Ever since the day I met you there's always been something. Ever since we sat behind that Scooby-Doo bouncy castle talking about spaceships that could travel through time.” He paused, smiling, and Felicity smiled back, her entire body feeling warm. 

“Obviously when we were kids, everything was just so easy but hard to understand at the same time and I’d never had a best friend as close as you before and I figured that it was just supposed to feel that way. But then one day I realised that with you it was different. I'd never thought about Sara the way I thought about you. I loved her, of course I loved her, but not the way I loved you. It's just always been _different_ with you and I don't know how else to explain it. But I was like, 11 by this point and I put everything I was feeling down to how much is changing when you're that age and I expected it all to go away eventually. Nothing ever seemed to change between us, between the way we worked together, how easily we could relax around each other, how much we always had in common, and I always wondered if there was something in that alone that meant something. I was 15 when I realised that all that stuff wasn't just going to go away. And it terrified me because it was _you_. You were my best friend and the person I was closest to and I didn't want anything to change and I hated that I thought about you differently and looked at you differently and couldn't just see you as a friend anymore. I was just so scared of the way you made me feel to begin with. And I didn't know how to make it stop without ruining everything between us so I figured, like any teenage boy probably would, that I just needed a girlfriend.” Oliver laughed here, catching Felicity's eye. 

She grinned. “Jessica. I remember her. I hated her.” 

“I know. I remember.” 

Jessica was the first girl Oliver had ever dated. She was in his English class, undoubtedly the prettiest girl in there, and she hadn't shut up about Oliver for the entire 5 weeks they dated. She exaggerated everything, and Felicity had sat silently listening to all her friends talking about her, knowing the real truth, because Oliver told her everything, and to this day she still regretted not telling everyone what things were really like. But Felicity wasn't like that. And no matter how much she hated this girl because of the way she talked about Oliver, reducing him to just his looks and how many gifts he bought her, she never would have purposefully done anything to hurt her. She’d never really understood what it was about her that had made her hate her, but she supposed now that she’d only ever been jealous of her. For so many reasons. An extensive list of reasons that almost definitely included the simple fact that it was Oliver she was dating. 

“I only hated her because I would never have been able to compete with her. No one would have ever chosen me over her. I felt that way about every girl you dated. I was jealous of them all because no one ever looked twice at me back then. And then I also just never thought any of them were good enough for you. They never treated you the way you deserved. You always deserved better.” 

“What I deserved doesn't matter. All that time, I only ever wanted you. There was never a doubt in my mind about that.” 

Felicity fell quiet and looked at her hands again, not knowing how to respond. 

“Everything is different now, Felicity, but that’s still the same. I still want you. More than I've ever wanted anybody. That's why nothing ever worked out with anyone else in the past, I'm sure of it. I look at you now and it's just… it's like… you've been there all along, every single time I ever needed you and I know things haven't been the same this last few years but deep down, nothing has changed, not for me at least, and even though you've been pushing me away and not letting anyone help you, it hasn't changed how I feel about you. In fact, it's probably just made everything I feel so much stronger. But I've just never felt like it was the right time to tell you. Especially over the last few years when you’ve had so much to deal with, I just never wanted to give you anything else that you might be able to beat yourself up over. Because it's killed me to see you so unhappy, Felicity, and I never would have wanted to add to that. And I know I've never really ever been able to help you and I've never known what-

“Wait. I'm just going to stop you there and tell you that you're the _only_ person who has _ever_ been able to help me. I can't even put into words how wrong you are if you think otherwise.” 

“But nothing I've ever said or done has ever seemed to make much difference.” 

“It hasn't, not to you and not really in the grand scale of things, but you've helped me, I promise you. Do you actually think I'd be able to be sitting here having this conversation with you right now if you hadn't had at least _some_ impact on my life?” 

Oliver shrugged. 

“You can't save me, Oliver. And I'm not asking you to. Only I can do that. But if you think that just because I'm not _cured_ means you haven't helped, then you're an idiot.” 

He laughed. “I'm an idiot for a lot of things, Felicity. And not having this conversation with you sooner is one of them. But like I said, I was just scared. I've always been scared to ruin what we have. But the more time that has passed, the harder it's been for me to keep to myself how I feel about you, not just around you but around everyone. Sara’s been asking for months why I'm always so mopey and quiet when we go out and I couldn't just tell her that it’s because you don't come with us anymore but somehow she figured it out one day. And then ever since, she’s been telling me to tell you because she thinks you feel the same way too but you've never given me any reason to think the same so I just kept on keeping it a secret.” 

“Oliver, you know me. I don't know _how_ to tell people how I feel. This right here is the most honest and open I've ever been with you.”

“I know. I know that. And I don't blame you.” 

“I've never believed that anyone could want me, Oliver. I've been on my own for so long and you have to understand what that does to a person.” 

“I can't understand. I want to, but I can't. You have to help me understand.” 

This was the part of the conversation she’d been most afraid of. This was where everything came out, all the deep and dark parts of her personality that she never shared with anyone, the parts of her that scared her the most, not just for her own sake but for other people’s too. 

“I don't even know where to begin… there's just so much… I've never talked about any of this with anyone.” 

Oliver didn't say anything, he just looked at her with a softness in his eyes and gave her a small smile. 

If he wanted to leave her after this, then so be it. 

“If you don't get it off your chest, you'll never be able to breathe.” He whispered, suddenly, softly, clearly sensing how hard this was about to be for her. “My dad used to say that to me, whenever I didn't want to tell him about something.” 

Felicity met his eyes then, as his words registered in her brain. He was right, she knew he was, but she was so scared of being able to breathe. 

“I haven't been able to breathe for a long time.” She said, matter-of-factly almost, still meeting his gaze. 

His expression didn't change but she saw something in his eyes that broke her heart. She could tell that he felt bad for her, that he pitied her, that maybe he thought he could change things… but he couldn't. She knew he couldn't. It was hopeless for anyone to believe that she could be saved. You couldn't save a person who didn't want to save themselves. 

“Oliver I- I don't know if I can do this, I really don't.” 

“Hey, no, where has this come from? You were ready to tell me a few seconds ago, I could see it in your eyes. What happened between then and now to make you change your mind?” 

“I saw you thinking- you were feeling _bad_ for me. You were thinking that you wished you could change everything. I could see that in _your_ eyes. But you can't, Oliver. You just _can't_. And I can't sit here being the reason your heart breaks every five minutes just because I can't ever be saved. I've been this way for almost all of my life. There's no changing or fixing this. This is who I am.” 

This time, her voice didn't shake, not like when she’d been talking to Sara. She didn't have room for her emotions right now. She just had to tell Oliver exactly how things were and she couldn't do that if she was crying. 

“Tell me. Tell me what you mean. Please. I just want to understand.” 

“I can't. Oliver, please…” 

She couldn't say anymore. She really couldn't. She just wanted to curl up inside herself and disappear. 

“Hey…” He whispered, so softly, so softly it made her shudder. “Don't leave me out here. Help me understand. Just let me in a little. Please.” 

“I can't _make_ you understand, I can't _help_ you understand more than you already do, Oliver. You know me. You know I don't talk to anyone and I don't let anyone in and I can't even leave my apartment most days and I'm always breaking promises and letting people down and lying and ruining people’s lives. It's just what I do, Oliver. You saw how I reacted when you tried to help me this morning, right? I meant every word I said in that moment. Sure, I was angry and wouldn't have said any of it otherwise, but in the moment I meant it all. And that wasn't the first time I've lashed out at you and said awful things to you, was it? I do that to all the people I'm close to. I saw in Sara earlier just what that's done to her. I saw her automatically blame herself for the change in my mood, just because in the past it's always been something I've blamed her for. And I _know_ you must feel that way too. But then at the same time I can see that you blame yourself for everything anyway and you probably went home earlier thinking it was your fault or that you'd just overreacted or something and I just don't know how we can work. You're always going to blame yourself for everything and I'm always going to blame myself for everything and we'll drive each other fucking crazy and it's just not healthy, Oliver. You're going to hate yourself every time I cry, or every time I have a panic attack, for not being able to fix me and then you're going to hate _me_ for making you feel like that, for making you feel like there's something you can’t fix. I want to tell you that everything will be okay in the end, I want to be able to promise you that I'll never hurt myself again, that I'll never take too many of my pills again, that I'll never go days without eating or sleeping again, because I know those are the things that break your heart, but I can’t, I just _can't_. I'm always going to break your heart, Oliver. And I won't be able to live with myself if I have to see your heart breaking everyday, I really won’t.” 

“Felicity you- you haven't even given us a chance. You can't know what’s going to happen if this is the first time it's ever happened to you.” 

“But I've been on my own for so fucking long, Oliver. I don't know how to not be on my own. And I don't just mean that physically, although I mean that too, but mostly I mean that I will always turn to myself first, no matter what. No matter how long we’re together, there will always be a part of me that can't forget what it was like to be alone, what it was like to have nobody to talk to, what it was like to always feel like even if there was someone there, they wouldn't want to listen to whatever I had to say. I stopped believing I was worth anything so many years ago and there's no coming back from that. I don't know how to believe anything otherwise. Like, I'm sitting in front of you right now after you've told me how much you care about me and still every part of me just _will not_ accept that what you're saying is true. That any of this is real. It goes so deep, I can't even describe it. My own father hasn't spoken to me since I was seven years old and my mom worked so much and never knew what to say to me whenever she _was_ home that I grew up pretty much without either of them. I _grew up_ feeling worthless and unlovable, it’s not something I've ever not felt. And it's not something that anyone is ever going to be able to change.” 

“I don't understand why you won't let me try.” 

“Because it's going to hurt you! Because you're going to fail and then you'll take it out on yourself! Because you deserve so much more. You deserve someone you don't _have_ to try with, Oliver. You deserve someone you can kiss whenever you want to, someone you can trust and open up to, someone who will trust you unconditionally and always turn to you for help, someone who won't always want to be on their own because they don't know what it feels like to have to be, someone who won't ever blame you for everything even when it's not your fault, someone who knows how to love you… that's what you deserve. Someone who knows how to love.” 

“But I don't want someone else, someone who already knows how to do all of that. I want to be with you whilst you figure it all out. I want to be with you whilst you learn how to do it all. I just want you.” 

“Why?! I don't understand _why_ …” 

“Because I'm in love with you, Felicity! I think I've been in love with you my whole life, it just took me so long to realise. So it doesn't matter how bad you think you're going to be at this, at us, because I'm already there, I've already imagined going through it all with you, there's nothing you can say that's going to scare me away because I'm not sure I could even leave this anymore even if I wanted to. I can't _stop_ loving you, I can't turn this off, I never have been able to even though I wanted to, and that's never going to change and I just wish you'd let me try. I just wish you'd give me a chance.” 

He was crying. She’d hadn't seen him cry for a long time, since his father died. All she wanted to do was hold him in her arms but she couldn't. She still didn't know if she was ready to do that. But she wanted to. Oh, she wanted to more than anything. 

He was in love with her. He’d said that. 

She didn't know what love really felt like but there was something building up inside her after listening to him speak that felt a whole lot like something close. 

“But I'm not right for you, Oliver. I’m really not. I wish you could understand-” 

“No. You don't get to tell me what's right for me. Only I get to decide what's right for me. You don't get to do that, ever.” 

“I'm sorry.” She whispered. 

She didn't know what else to say. 

“Felicity, I'm not asking you for anything other than for us to try. I don't _want_ anything more from you right now. I just want you to give us a chance.” 

“I want that too, I do, but I-” 

“But what?!” 

She swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat back down. Not yet. She couldn't cry yet. She wouldn't. 

“I'm so scared, Oliver. I'm so scared I'm going to mess you up so bad that you'll end up like me.” 

Her voice cracked. 

There it was. The truth. The one thing she’d always been afraid of but had never admitted to herself. The reason she kept herself as far away from other people as they'd let her. The reason she alienated herself from everyone who had ever resonated with her. The reason it made her skin crawl whenever anyone had told her that they knew how she felt about anything. 

She hated herself so much, and she had always been terrified that one day, someone she loved would hate themselves just as much, because of her. 

“It's okay to be scared. You know that right?” Oliver said, his voice strained, like he was really trying to hold himself together. 

She wanted to hold him so badly. 

She didn't know what to say so she said nothing. 

"You're a good person, Felicity. The best. You've always been the best of anyone I've ever met. And I know you say stuff sometimes that you don't mean but so do I, so does every single person on this planet. But when I look into your eyes all I can see is empathy and how scared you are of hurting someone and saying the wrong thing and how scared you are of disappointing people and how badly you just want to make them happy, even if you think that pushing them away is what’s going to achieve that. So I just don't believe that when you're being cold and distant it's actually you and you shouldn't either.” 

“But it _is_ me, Oliver. I am cold and distant sometimes. That's just a part of me. A huge part of me. I can't snap my fingers and make all that go away. And you can tell yourself all you like that it's not me, but it is. I _am_ awful and mean and selfish and spiteful." 

 

“Felicity I-” Oliver looked so exhausted then, so close to giving up; he must have known he was fighting a losing battle. “I don't know what else to say. I don't know what I need to say to change your mind. I don't know what I can say that will make you believe in us for just one second. Because that's all we need, one second. If you can believe for a second, you can believe for a lifetime.” 

Felicity almost laughed then. “That's really not how it works, Oliver.” 

“Why not? Why can't that be how it works? I know you feel something, Felicity. I can feel it, I can see it in your eyes. And I can't make you say you love me, but I really wish you'd try.” 

She sighed, feeling that lump in her throat forming again. Why was she fighting this so hard? Why couldn't she just let go for one second, just that one second Oliver said they needed, and try? 

“Okay.” She said, quietly after a few seconds. 

“Okay?” 

“One second. You can have that. Why _can't_ that be how it works, right?” 

Oliver still didn't look convinced. “And the rest?” 

“I’ll try. I can't promise anything more than that.” 

“You will?” 

“Yes! Stop asking or you'll make me change my mind!” She laughed. 

It felt so good to laugh. After everything they'd just talked about, after everything she’d just confessed for the first time in her life, she couldn't quite believe she was laughing, but it felt so fucking good. 

She looked at Oliver, sitting there like he didn't quite know what to do with himself and suddenly that desire to hold him was back. Instead this time, she didn't fight it. She just held out her arms to him, offering herself to him in a way she never had before, and then couldn't quite take the relief she felt when he accepted her offer and let himself fall into her, his head buried against her neck, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

She found that she didn't need to worry that she was doing this wrong, because with Oliver, it felt right anyway. She didn't know how to comfort someone, but she also felt like she was doing a pretty good job of it anyway. And once she realised that they fit together so perfectly, how easily he had let himself fall into her, it kind of took her breath away. 

Only then, did she let herself cry. 

She didn't know why she was crying at first, but she cried anyway, loud sobs that wracked her body, her nose running, her eyes streaming, the kind of crying she always kept for when she was alone. The embarrassing kind of crying which she had no control over. 

And somewhere between her holding Oliver, keeping him afloat, suddenly he was the one holding her, keeping her somewhat present enough to remember that she didn't have to be alone anymore. 

She sank into his chest, her face pushed into the soft material of his shirt, the familiar smell of the cologne he’d worn for the last 10 years filling her nostrils and making her feel like finally she was home. She could feel herself gripping him, her fingernails digging into his back as she clung to him, her sobs so absolutely exhausting that she felt she might disappear if she wasn't holding on. And all the while he held her back just as tightly, his arms wrapped around her, strong and safe, and she knew he’d never let her go, not really, and that even if everything she feared would happen actually _did_ happen, that they'd be okay eventually. That Oliver would never turn out like her because he was just too strong. In that moment, she realised she trusted him. She realised she loved him. She always had. 

She managed to find it within herself then to pull away from him slightly so that she could look him in the eye. 

“Oliver?”

“Yeah?” 

He was still holding her so tightly, like he never wanted to let go.

“I love you too, you know? I think I probably always have.” 

He leaned forwards and kissed her forehead softly, but quickly, pulling back, she guessed, before she could tell him to. But she wasn't about to tell him to. Not at all. She slipped one arm from around his shoulders and moved it to the back of his head, pressing into him softly to keep his forehead leaning against hers. 

She acted much braver than she felt, going against what every inch of her body was telling her to do. She ignored every thought that was telling her to put some distance between them, ignored every thought that was telling her that this was too much for her, that she wasn't allowed this, that she was suffocating him, that he was about to come out and say this whole thing was a joke, that he didn't really want any of this and was only doing it because he felt bad for her, that she was going to get sick from being this close to someone and breathing in their air, that this was all bad bad bad, that she needed to get away and wash her hands until they bled… she ignored it all. And then slowly, ever so slowly, she pressed her mouth to his, touching his lips with hers for only a fraction of second, just to see if she could, and then doing it again when she realised that she could. 

It wasn't much of a kiss as far as kisses go, there were no fireworks or feeling like she was flying like in the movies, but it was perfect all the same because more than anything, this was her just letting her heart lead instead of her head for one of the first times ever, trusting her instincts rather than her thoughts, going against everything she’d ever believed was impossible for her. This was one of those moments she’d never let her believe she could have. With anyone. Let alone someone she’d loved her whole life without even realising it. 

She knew things would never be perfect, but perfect wasn't what she was aiming for anyway. Her life would always be paved with sleepless nights and incessant thinking and having to do things five times just in case and crying and hiding herself away and panic attacks and being unable to open the door and saying things she didn't mean and being afraid, so afraid of almost everything that she didn't really see the point in fighting anymore. But fight she would. Because life now might also one day lead to smiles for no reason or singing along to music in the shower instead of counting how many times she’d washed her hair or only taking her meds when she actually needed them and maybe one day not at all or only crying once during dinner because she's scared her food isn't cooked or being able to go out food shopping instead of having to do it online all the time or being able to sleep next to somebody, being able to kiss them, being able to hold their hand without thinking twice about it sometimes. 

She wasn't about to think that things would even one day be okay, because a day would always come where everything was too much and all she wanted was to be alone where she could slip back into old habits without really thinking about it and sometimes she’d stay there for days. Sometimes she’d need to wash her hands nine times and take five showers that day and clean until she couldn't think about anything else and she wouldn't even be able to think about going outside because that wall of germs and bacteria would be in the way and there’d be nothing she could do to make it go away. 

But maybe being with Oliver, if nothing else, would teach her that all she needed was to believe for one second, just one second, that what she was going through would pass. Maybe that would be the way things worked for them after all. One second, a lifetime? What's the difference, really? 

Maybe that new belief, if she really could start to practice and enforce it on her life, could start to change everything. 

Maybe one day she would wake up and realise that there had never been anything _wrong_ with her, that she’d never been unlovable, that there was always someone out there who could see everything in her, and wanted to be in her life anyway. 

Maybe one day she would start to realise that not everybody would leave and not everybody would let her go without a second thought and not everybody would sit by and let her disappear without fighting for her. 

Maybe one day, now she had someone to love her, someone who could really show her how to love others, she could finally start to love herself. 

Maybe he would show her that being able to love herself had been inside her all along, she just had to know where to look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave me a comment! I find it super difficult to continue writing without encouragement from others and so every single comment means the absolute world to me!
> 
> Feel free to leave any prompts or questions for me on Tumblr! My ask is right [HERE](http://wetsuiton.tumblr.com/ask) and I'm on there everyday :)


	8. Epilogue: 2 months later

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Oliver asked, peering his head around the bathroom door for probably the third time that hour where she was sitting doing her makeup. 

“Nope, I'm not sure. I don't want to do this. But I have to. It's been weeks since I left my apartment and I promised myself I wouldn't let it get like this again. So whether I want to go or not, I'm going. Stop asking me if I'm sure I want to go. I'm not changing my mind, okay?” Felicity replied, with slightly more venom in her voice than she’d expected. 

She looked up at him and smiled, apologetically. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you. You're just making me even more nervous by asking me questions and it's stressing me out.” 

“I'm just making sure you're alright, that's all.” 

“I know, and I love you for it. But I'm fine, okay? So you can stop asking, honestly. I'll be ready to go in like, 5 minutes.” 

They weren't meeting Sara and Nyssa for another 45 minutes but she and Oliver were walking to the restaurant and that would take a good 15 minutes. And seeing as Felicity was always early for everything, they were leaving well ahead of time just in case. She did everything just in case. 

“Okay. As long as you're sure.” Oliver said, giving her one of his smiles, one of his smiles that he always saved just for her. 

“I am. And I know somewhere underneath all this anxiety, I am actually excited about this.”

Oliver smiled again and then left her to herself to finish getting ready. 

It had been a long afternoon. She’d had to take three showers one after the other just because her brain wouldn't give her even 5 seconds of peace and she was feeling particularly vulnerable today anyway and hadn't had the presence of mind to fight it. Some days were just like that. They always would be. She hadn't been able to eat anything today either which was making her feel lightheaded and uncomfortable, but she hadn't been able to do anything about that either. Her anxiety was just so heightened today because tonight was something that had been planned for weeks now, something that she just couldn't cancel because aside from all the panic, she did really want to go. 

They were finally having their double date with Sara and Nyssa. They'd booked a table in a small restaurant downtown, Sara had made sure to book a table right by the door just in case Felicity needed to leave quickly, and they were all meeting there at six to have dinner. Six was a good time because it wasn't too busy then on a Friday; the rush tended to come in an hour or so later and they had all promised they'd be finished by then. Everyone had been so flexible, so supportive, even Nyssa who Felicity was yet to meet in person had sent her a text message a few days ago saying how excited she was to meet her but that there was no pressure, reminding her that they didn't have to go, that it was completely up to her, that they'd do whatever they could to make the experience easier for her. 

Usually, Felicity would have taken them up on their offer of not having to go and cancelled the entire thing, probably promising they'd meet up another time but never actually meaning it. But when Sara had asked a few weeks ago, double checking that she still wanted to go ahead with everything, she’d found herself saying yes. She’d found herself excited underneath all the anxiety, and she and Sara had stayed up late talking about what they could wear, what they could order, and they'd even talked about maybe going to see a movie afterwards. Felicity had declined a few days later on the movie and had offered to host a movie night at her place instead that everyone was welcome to. 

She was still excited about tonight. Yes, she’d spent the entire day cleaning and crying and panicking about it, but the excitement was still there. 

Oliver had left her to it for most of the day, somehow understanding that she just needed to be alone and that his presence probably wouldn't have the desired effect, and she was so grateful for that. He'd come over a couple of hours ago and had mostly just sat in her living room watching TV, popping his head into the bathroom to check on her only once or twice more than was actually necessary. And whilst that _was_ making her nervous, it was also making her smile. 

They were really starting to establish a routine between them, discovering what worked for them and what really didn't, and even though it had been two months and they hadn't really _done_ anything, especially not compared to what most couples might have done by their second month together, the last two months had pleasantly surprised Felicity. She found that everyday, it was a little easier for her to open up, not just to Oliver but to Sara and her mom too. Not about the serious stuff, she wasn't there yet, but she’d found herself being able to just call them to talk about her day without feeling like they were bored to death just hearing her say hello. 

She was even talking to her therapist more, usually just opting for phone or Skype appointments because she still wasn't all that ready to go downtown once a week to her therapist’s office, and they were slowly working on introducing new coping techniques into Felicity’s life. She’d barely put any of them into practice as of yet and mostly always fell into her old and damaging coping mechanisms, but she was trying. Baby steps. She wasn't too happy that Oliver had taken to paying for her appointments, but arguing with him about it had been futile. He knew she couldn't really afford weekly appointments but he’d also known that she badly needed them. So he’d paid for six of them up front without her knowing in the end and by that point there had been nothing she could do about it. She’d been mad at him for it, she hated feeling like she couldn't do something for herself, but eventually she’d let it go. She had to let people help her. She had to get better at that. And she would pay him back one day. One day when she was able to work properly again, however far in the future that day was. 

She and Oliver didn't spend a lot of time together, she wasn't there yet either, but they talked on the phone everyday, sometimes for hours, and he came to see her every other weekend, sometimes staying over, sleeping on the couch still, and in the mornings he’d make her pancakes or French toast and they'd sit and eat together on the couch, watching some show about gardening usually even though neither of them had a garden, just talking and listening to each other about whatever happened to be on their minds at the time. She found herself looking forward to her weekends with him after a few weeks of working herself into a panic over them, because it was starting to feel nice to just have someone there, someone who didn't need constant chatter, but who would listen if she found a phrase in her book that she wanted to read aloud or who would remind her to call her mom on Sundays and make sure she hadn't been forgetting to eat. Companionship was one of those things she really had been missing, without ever realising at the time. Someone to just share the little stuff with. 

Whilst all that stuff still sometimes came with panic and there were still days where she wouldn't want Oliver to touch her, it was gradually all becoming natural. Most days, she didn't have to think twice about taking his hand or hugging him because she’d long since stopped associating him with something that would make her sick. Most often, he was simply just someone who made her happy. And amongst many other things, happiness was one of the things she was slowly learning to just let herself feel. 

Tonight would be a lot of firsts, in a lot of ways. It would be their first official date as a couple, their first time seeing Sara and Nyssa together, Felicity’s first time in a restaurant this year, the first time she’d left her apartment in a couple of weeks, the first time in a _long_ time that she hadn't cancelled plans at the first opportunity. 

And sure, she was absolutely terrified about tonight, but more than that, she was just excited. She was excited to see what would happen, if she could actually do this. She was excited to hopefully have a “normal” human experience for once. 

The restaurant wasn't too fancy, but she’d dressed up anyway, simply because she hadn't had the chance to dress up in years. Sara had come over one day last week to help her pick out a dress online that wasn't _too_ formal but still formal enough for her to feel like she was really making an effort. Sara never wore dresses, she was more of a suits kind of woman and she always looked incredible in them, but she loved helping Felicity find something to wear nonetheless. They'd both decided on a short and sweet, dark red, skater dress with a slightly scooped neck and heeled, black ankle boots to go with it. Sara had wanted Felicity to go for strappy sandals with 5 inch heels but Felicity had graciously but firmly declined, saying she didn't want to draw attention to herself, she just wanted to look _nice_. Heels were too much for the occasion. She had heard her past-self cringing af that; the Felicity in the past wore heels everywhere, even if they hurt her feet and made her ankles permanently ache. But she wasn't that Felicity anymore. She was becoming someone new. Or at least that's what she told herself whenever she caught herself thinking about how things used to be. 

She’d curled her hair, soft curls that had dropped into quaint little waves over the course of the afternoon, just the way she liked it, and had her contacts in tonight instead of wearing her glasses, something she really hadn't done in almost two years. 

Applying the finishing touches to her makeup, a quick layer of her favourite matte lipstick in a deep fuschia, that part of the old Felicity she definitely wanted to keep around, her lipstick collection was too impressive to ever let it go of, Felicity stood up and looked at her reflection in the full length mirror. 

For a few seconds, she almost didn't recognise herself. She couldn't remember the last time she’d made such an effort with her appearance and it took her a little while to realise that she was actually looking at _her_. She’d spent so much of the last year avoiding mirrors, not wanting to see what she had become, that she’d actually forgotten what she looked like. 

She was a lot thinner than she used to be and her face looked different, but that was all. Inside her head she’d been picturing herself as looking gaunt and exhausted and actually quite terrifying really, but the reality wasn't too different to what she’d been used to before, before things got bad and she stopped looking in the mirror. 

She gave herself a small smile, her cheeks rosy from her blusher but also from the bubble of happiness that suddenly formed in the pit of her stomach. 

She was okay. Right now, she really was okay. And she never thought she’d be able to say that. 

She heard Oliver knock on the door softly before peering his head around. She caught his gaze via her her reflection in the mirror and smiled. 

“What do you think?” She asked, gesturing to her dress. 

Oliver smiled back, his eyes so warm and full of love. “You look beautiful.” 

She felt herself blush. 

“I wish I could take credit for the dress but Sara picked it out.” 

“It's gorgeous. _You_ are gorgeous.” 

She turned round to face him, picking up her purse from the side of the sink as she did so and slipping it over her shoulder.

“Thank you.” She smiled. “Are you ready to go?” 

“I will be in one second…” Oliver said, before holding his arms out to her. 

She did still struggle with this sometimes, with letting herself be held, especially on days like today where all she could think about was having to go out and expose herself to all the diseases and bacteria under the sun, but she was also starting to find Oliver’s embrace absolutely irresistible. 

She let herself go to him, her arms wrapping around his waist so comfortably, her head tucked under his chin, her face pressed against his chest. She felt him kiss the top of her head, his arms wrapped tightly around her back, pulling her into him and keeping her there. This was fast becoming her favourite place to be. She had never expected the warmth and safety of Oliver’s arms to always feel so much like home, but so far, that's the only way she could describe it. She sighed, contentedly, and pressed a soft kiss to his neck, feeling him shudder slightly as she did so. 

She still couldn't believe the effect she had on him sometimes, how affected he was by her, and she didn't think she’d ever be able to understand it. 

This was all they'd done so far, a few soft kisses here and there and more embraces than they could count, and neither of them seemed eager to push things any further. It was just one of the things about Oliver that made her feel so grateful; he always let her take the lead and never pressed for more. He just understood her. He always had.

“It's pretty cool that we can finally do this, right?” She whispered, smiling into him. 

She meant the restaurant and the double date, but she knew she also meant so much more. She meant everything. She meant the two of them being together. She meant this exact moment. 

“All of this will always be pretty cool.” He laughed softly, pressing another kiss to the top of her head again. 

Pretty cool was certainly one way to describe it. This. Them. 

“You're not too worried about tonight, are you?” He asked after a few minutes of quiet. 

“A little. But I wouldn't be me if I wasn't, right?” 

Oliver laughed, his warm breath skating over the top of her head as he did so. Once upon a time the sensation of that would have made her feel sick. But not tonight. Not anymore. Not with Oliver. 

“I'm sure everything will be fine.” 

 

As it would turn out, Oliver was right in many ways, but wrong in some too. 

He was wrong because Felicity would end up leaving the restaurant early, after first having a hushed argument with Oliver when he said she should try not wearing her gloves whilst she was eating and then again once the food arrived and she was convinced her pizza wasn't cooked properly, her stomach churning, her palms sweating, and she couldn't feel safe again until she was back in her apartment with the door closed and locked. There she cried for half an hour, convinced she’d ruined everything, convinced her friends were going to think she was being pathetic, convinced Oliver would be mad at her for spoiling everything, convinced this was going to be the final straw, the straw that made him leave her. 

He was wrong because everything wasn't fine, not at all, he’d lied to her. He was wrong because she was supposed to be enjoying a dinner with her friends, not bending over the sink scrubbing expensive soap into her hands over and over. 

But then she found that he was right too, as just under an hour later, her friends and her boyfriend (she was still coming to terms with that word) would knock on her door and she'd find them smiling at her when she eventually remembered how to open the door, their cheeks warm from the wine at dinner, holding up bags of popcorn and several different horror movies and two bottles of pink lemonade, their eyes forgiving and loving and bright. He was right too because none of them even mentioned what had happened at dinner, in fact Nyssa even said that the food was overrated and that she’d much rather have been over at Felicity’s all night instead and Sara had laughed and told her to stop flirting with her best friend and all of a sudden, Felicity had found herself laughing as well and she too started to forget what had happened at dinner. There would be other dinners. There would always be other dinners. 

From there they'd pour pink lemonade into wine glasses, put on a movie and then squeeze onto Felicity’s one couch, Oliver still had never got around to replacing those cushions and she was quickly finding that she didn't mind, Sara and Nyssa curled up together at one end and she and Oliver at the other, his arm wrapped around her, her head on his chest like that was the way things had always been, and the way she always wanted them to be. 

**THE END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave me a comment! I find it super difficult to continue writing without encouragement from others and so every single comment means the absolute world to me!
> 
> Feel free to leave any prompts or questions for me on Tumblr! My ask is right [HERE](http://wetsuiton.tumblr.com/ask) and I'm on there everyday :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please leave me a comment! I find it super difficult to continue writing without encouragement from others and so every single comment means the absolute world to me!
> 
> Feel free to leave any prompts or questions for me on Tumblr! My ask is right [HERE](http://wetsuiton.tumblr.com/ask) and I'm on there everyday :)


End file.
